Numb
by smalld1171
Summary: My version of Dean's struggle with losing Sam to the cage. Also features Bobby and some Cas. I hope any who read will enjoy. Thanks. *Final Chapter Up!*
1. Chapter 1

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**Hello to all ! **

**Just another little ditty that was rolling around in my head and I needed to get out. I had thought it would just be a one-shot but I think I have changed my mind and may have to continue. **

**Takes place immediately after Sam jumps into the pit in 5x22. **

**I don't own anything SPN related. Shucks.**

**Thanks to any who read and drop me a line to let me know what you think. Thanks again. :)**

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And with that bright light his brother is gone. Sam. Gone forever, cursed to spend eternity in Hell, in the cage with Lucifer and Michael. Dean is numb. He can't move from his position against the car. Damn it, he should have gotten up, he should have done something. Anything. He didn't even say one word. He just let his baby brother jump into that hole without even knowing how much he means to him. He just wants to die.

He needs to get over there. To the rings. To the last place he saw his brother. He grunts and moans and screams aloud as he begins to move. He begins to feel every cut, every bruise, every broken bone his battle with the Devil has left in its wake. But it doesn't matter, that won't stop him. He needs to get over there, needs to will his broken body to that spot. He needs to somehow be closer to his baby brother. And then he will let himself drift away. He can feel the blood seep through his shirt and sees it spill out onto the earth below. He can see the blackness start to cloud around the edge of his vision but he doesn't care. His death is long overdue and he won't fight it this time. There is nothing left to fight for. Nothing left to save. Nothing left to live for.

He crawls along the ground inch by inch, the need to stop and catch his breath increases in frequency as his body cries out for him to stop. But he doesn't listen to the signs, he urges himself on, and can feel a grim smile float wearily across his face as he finally reaches the patch of earth that just swallowed his brother. His hand grabs the rings from where they lay and he closes his fist to feel them against his skin. Sammy. He holds them so tightly that his nails draw blood on his palm. Thoughts tumble around aimlessly in his mind. Sammy. God, Sammy. Why couldn't I save you? I am the one who is supposed to suffer, not you. I am the one who deserves to suffer, not you. I am the one who started all of this, because I was too damn weak to fight Alistair. To fight Hell. I gave in and look at what it has cost us? I should have been the one to end it. Me. I failed you again. I am so, so sorry Sammy.

Dean rises to his knees and rocks slowly, tears stream in an unrelenting wave down his battered face, the sting of them cuts into each gash displayed against his once handsome features. He is broken. In every possible, conceivable way. He does not wipe the tears away, just lets them fall, lets his chest heave and his pain agonize him. It is almost time, he can feel his body begin to shut down. And that is just fine with him. Because he doesn't want to feel. Doesn't want to be. Doesn't want to live.

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**TBC...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello everyone and thank you for taking a moment to read this next chapter. I hope you enjoy and I would love to hear what you think of this story so far. Reviews and comments are always welcome. Thanks and happy reading! :)**

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He feels a flutter of air beside him and instinctively turns his head towards it. Now, that is one thing he did not expect to see. Castiel. He stands there, intact, and Dean wonders if hallucinations are a side effect of being on the edge of the abyss. On the edge of death. "Cas? Alive?" His voice is hoarse and weak in his ears and he isn't really sure if he expects an answer or not. After all, this is the first time he has faced death as it was meant to be. No one to interfere, just his number being called and his time to face the music. Maybe the mind play tricks when you are ready to finally leave this world and its pain behind.

"Dean." Huh, well, it sounds like Cas. But it can't be, he saw with his own eyes what happened to his friend. Cas. He was blown into about a trillion itty bitty pieces so there is no way he is actually standing there. Dean shakes his head to try and dissolve the vision and realizes a moment too late that it was a very, very bad idea. An explosion rocks through his head. He can't help but gasp as the pain intensifies and rips through his brain. Out of reflex he brings his hands up, as if to try and prevent his brain from oozing out through his ears. And that movement only serves to set off a chain reaction of sensory overload into the rest of his body. The pain, too much, so much, seems to reverberate through every muscle, every joint, every cell in his battered body. As he fights to gain control over the agony that swells within him, he hears the angel provide an oh so Castiel-ish matter of fact kind of explanation. "I was brought back, new and improved."

Dean opens his eyes to see the angel lean closer to him, his fingertips set to touch his forehead and he feels his breath hitch. The vibe he gets off of Cas is that he is in his full on healing the injured mode. Dean figures his mojo must of had a recharge, his tank is back at full. But, right now, Dean is not so sure if he wants to be healed. If he wants to be saved. If he deserves to be saved. The pain that pounds throughout his body provides him a strange sort of comfort. He can concentrate on it, focus on it instead of the pain in his heart. The pain which runs so much deeper. If he lets Cas touch him, if he allows himself to become whole again, then he will live. He will be able to walk away from this bloody place. And then what? The only pain he will have left then is the sheer agony that comes from utter and complete loss. Of Sam. Of Adam. Of...Bobby.

God. Bobby. The strong, tough as nails, do anything to help the Winchesters out, mentor and friend to them is dead. His neck snapped like some kind of flimsy ass twig that couldn't stand the storm that it was forced to face the brunt of. So why is it? Why is it that Dean is still here? Still alive? Still able to breathe? Maybe this is his actual destiny. Maybe he is meant to be tortured until the very end of his life. To be reminded of what, of who he didn't have the strength or power to save. He couldn't save Sam. He couldn't save Adam. And he couldn't save Bobby. Zero out of three. That would make him a certified, 100% loser. He never believed in all that destiny crap, and now he knows why. It sucks.

But wait. Did Cas just say new and improved? Dean shuffles back with a painful moan just as those angel fingertips are about to land on their target. "Wait Cas. Can you bring him back? Can you save Bobby?" He watches him do that annoying tilt of his head thing to contemplate the question and Dean looks up to him, through clouded and blurry eyes, in anticipation. Please, let someone who is worth saving make it out of this nightmare.

"Yes, I can and I will. But Dean, listen to me, you are critically injured. Let me help you." Cas takes another step towards him and Dean drags his butt along the ground again in an effort to stay out of reach. By the time he speaks his head is fuzzy and it takes more effort to get the words out. Good, not long now.

"No Cas. Not yet. Yeah, 'm hurt but Bobby? Dead remember? Please Cas, please, fix him...first. Before me." Dean can see the uncertainty in the angel, torn between helping him and doing what he has been asked. "Please."

Dean feels a smile cross his face as, after the angel seems to hesitate for a moment longer, he nods, leaves his side and heads towards Bobby. Please, let Bobby be okay. Let him live. Dean closes his eyes and lets that one tiny glimmer of light, of relief, of hope wash over him. It lasts only a second as he finds he suddenly can't tell which way is up anymore. The dizziness escalates and he can feel his body pitch to the side. It kinda seems like he is stuck in slow motion, it takes forever but he has no energy to stop his descent. As he hits the ground he can hear the noise of his body's impact on the earth. It echoes through his ears and drums into his brain. His broken bones jostle around his insides and he feels sick. The familiar burn of bile, of sickness works it's way up his throat and as it does he can taste the distinct presence of blood. He swallows, tries to prevent it but in the end it is to no avail. He heaves and lays the contents onto the ground below. Yeah, he is in bad shape. The blood that trickles from his mouth tells him that much. He knows he will not be going anywhere. But, it's okay, it doesn't matter. He doesn't need to move. Not anymore. He is perfectly fine where he is. He still has the rings, he is still where he wants to be. He never needs to move again. This is as close as he can be to his brother. To Sammy. And he will not leave him. He will stay right here until the darkness comes. Until he takes his last breath.

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**TBC...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello to everyone out there! I hope you enjoy this next chapter. I would love to hear what you think if you are so inclined to tell me.. :) Thanks for reading!**

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Cas kneels beside the fallen hunter and places a light touch on his brow. There is a sound in the air so odd, so out of place that it can only be attributed to the unnatural reconstruction of broken bones. There is a sharp intake of breath and Bobby's eyes fly open, lined with confusion.

"Bobby, are you repaired?"

"Uh, repaired? Sure, I guess. One hell of a headache but yeah." Pause. Wait. Cas? "But, Cas? I thought. Didn't you? What?" He remembers his confrontation with Sam. Well, with Lucifer, and then nothing. Just darkness until this moment. He scans the area the best he can from his vantage point on the ground and when he spots nothing, no sign of Sam or Dean, the knot in his stomach, his instinct, tells him things are bad.

"Where? Cas? Where are Sam and Dean?" He braces himself for the worst as intense blue eyes look directly at him.

"Sam is gone, he is in the cage. With Lucifer and Michael."

Damn his instincts, he so badly wanted them to be wrong, just this once. "And Dean?"

"Dean is alive but badly wounded."

The older hunter needs a moment to absorb the angel's words. The brothers. Somehow, some way, they did it. They stopped the devil. Stopped the apocalypse. But at such a cost. Bobby knew, just like the brothers did. It had to be done. To save humanity. But still. Sam. Sam is in the cage. Bobby can not suppress the shudder that rips through him. Sam. Somehow he beat the devil and stuffed him back in the box. He has saved them all. Bobby feels his eyes well up at the thought of the young Winchester facing the wrath of Lucifer. The strength it must have taken to break the hold, if only just long enough to send him back to Hell. And now Sam is trapped there. For eternity.

Bobby closes his eyes, tries to shake away the thoughts, the images from his mind. He needs to focus, to concentrate of what it is that he can control at this moment. He will grieve for Sam, for the man he considered his son, his own flesh and blood. But, right now, he needs to get to Dean. He can not begin to imagine what state Sam's big brother is in. Dean must have watched the whole scene unfold. He bore witness to his own brother's death. His sacrifice. Not good. And to top it off he has been wounded, by Lucifer ,as he wore the face and body of Sam. The sound of Cas' voice brings him out of his mind and back to the task at hand.

"Dean did not appear to want my help. He seemed confused and unsure. Bobby, he moved away from me when I tried to heal him. He insisted that I brought you back first."

Bobby chuckles at the words. Of course, how absolutely typical. Dumb ass Dean, never, ever looking after his own needs first. "Yeah, that sounds like our Dean. Everyone else is more important than him. Idjit. Help me up Cas." As Bobby slowly rises to his feet with the angel's assistance his words continue. "I gotta get to him. He is all kinds of hurtin' right now and if I know him, and I do, he is busy placing the blame squarely on his own shoulders and if he watched, if he witnessed Sam toss himself into the pit, then he knows that his brother is truly gone. And that would have messed up his head. Big time."

"Yes, I agree. It appeared to me as though he has no interest in being saved."

"Well, we'll see about that. Stubborn ass probably thinks he doesn't deserve to live. And that attitude is starting to grate on my nerves. He is gonna change that tune of his once I give him a good talking to. Now where's he at?"

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"Dean?" The voice, he thinks it's familiar but he can't be sure. It seems to be miles away, a whisper that has floated on the breeze and somehow filtered its way into his ears. He hurts, everywhere, and as hard as he tries he can not place the voice. But, it has to be Sammy. Sam has come to help him cuz he knows he is in bad shape. He can't figure out where he is or what has landed him here, in agony, on the ground. As every breath he takes in ignites a fiery torrent of pain, and is accompanied by a rattling sound in his chest, Dean comes to the conclusion that he is in serious trouble. But, it's okay, Sam is here. Sammy will make it better, he will fix him up like he always does. "Sammy, that you, what happened bro?"

"DEAN?" It's louder now, that voice, right beside his ear. As he feels a hand lay itself upon his shoulder, he knows. It is not Sam. It seems to take an enormous amount of effort for Dean to open his eyes. Well, huh, maybe just one eye. Yup, in rough shape, only one eye works. No, not Sam. Bobby. Well that's good right? But what? That's weird. Bobby looks worried. Concerned. Sad?

Oh no. Shit. No! Events crash and tumble and cut their way through his brain. Images. Of Lucifer. Of Sam. Of Cas, dead. Of Bobby, dead. Of Adam. Of Michael. Of the beating that he took while staring into the face of his brother. Of the words that he repeated over and over again to try and break through to him. To tell him that he is not alone. 'Sammy, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. It's okay Sammy. It's okay. I'm not going to leave you.'

It's too much. He moans aloud, his brain, his heart unable to contain the assault of those images. And they don't stop. They keep on coming. To torture him. The moment when Sam, his Sammy, came back to him. He looked so scared. Terrified. But even so, his brother tried to make Dean feel better. Make him realize that they can still win. Dean can still hear his voice, Sammy's voice, echo through him. 'It's okay Dean. I've got him. It's gonna be okay.' How he looked on in horror, unable to move, unable to speak, at the moment when he realized that Sam was going to dive into the pit. To save the world, to save everyone, to save him, from Lucifer. And he did it, his little brother did it, despite the fact that he would be doomed for eternity, trapped in the cage with pure evil. Sammy, his baby brother, willingly sent himself into the eye of Hell itself.

Dean can't help himself, he lets out a sorrowful cry, of pain, of despair, of anguish beyond any he has ever felt before. He wants to die. He can not bear to live with the knowledge. His brother. His reason for being. The one he promised to protect, to save, is gone. He wishes his damn body would just hurry the hell up and let go, stop it all. He curls in on himself and feels the blood gurgle up from his torn apart insides, his reflexes ejecting the fluid in rapid succession, accentuated by a series of ragged and pain inducing coughs.

"Take it easy Dean. Take it easy son. It's time for our friendly neighbourhood angel here to fix you up."

"Nnn..." Cough. "Nnnn..." Cough. "No." He squirms, he scratches at the earth, he tucks his head into the dirt and moans against the raging fire in his soul. The empty pit that used to contain his heart. "Just...leave me... don't...wanna...can't... please..."

Bobby is stunned. Dean Winchester. Once so full of piss and vinegar, always the first to throw caution to the wind, ready to kick ass and take names at the drop of a hat, is broken. Reduced to the empty shell that lays at his feet. His very soul is gone, thrown into the pit along with his brother. Dean Winchester has just laid it out in no uncertain terms, with crystal clarity. He does not want to be saved. Does not want to live.

Well, not on his watch damn it. Bobby refuses. He will not lose both of the boys. It is gonna hurt and Bobby knows it, but he has to do it, has to bring out the big guns. To try and get some fire back into Dean's eyes, into his heart. He might hate him, but Bobby doesn't care, he will not let the kid just drift away. He will not let him drown alone in misery. So, Bobby takes aim, inhales a deep breath and fires.

"This ain't up for discussion! You do not get a choice here. I know you are hurting boy but you do not get to check out. You do not get to take the easy road. I will not let you die. I can't! No more death, no more! Not after all of this. Not after everything that has happened." Pause. "Sam did not sacrifice himself just for you to lay down and give up!"

Dean tries. He tries to give Bobby his best, patent pending death glare but he can't even tell if his eyes are still open. He can't see anything. He can't focus on anything. He can't do anything. He can't feel anything. His body is numb and his chest is hollow. His heart has been ripped out, it no longer beats, it no longer sustains and supports him. The emptiness is killing him. And damn Bobby for denying him the death that he craves.

"Here are your options Dean. One, you let Cas work his magic on you and then you can throw punches and scream and kick and do whatever else you need to do. Or two, you lay there in agony, wait to die and we let you, and _then _I tell Cas to work his magic on you, you come back, then you can throw punches and scream and kick and do whatever else you need to do." Pause. "So, which one is it gonna be?"

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**TBC...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello All and thanks for coming back for another edition of this story. I hope as always that you will find some enjoyment in this chapter. Reviews are wonderful so feel free to send one my way if you wish, but no pressure! Thanks for reading! Until next time... :)**

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Bobby waits. And the longer he does, the more convinced he becomes that his question will go unanswered. Not that he is too surprised by that. Either Dean is too pissed off to give him the satisfaction of a response, or the younger man is just too far gone to even of registered the question in the first place.

He crouches down and studies Dean's face. By the looks of things he would be amazed if the young hunter even knows where he is. If it wasn't for the sickly, wheezing sounds and the tremors that ebb and flow through the boy's form, Bobby would think he was already dead. He looks like hell. One eye swollen shut and the other barely open, just a tiny slit of pale green visible from between the lids. The older hunter sighs. The fire, the life, the vibrancy once present within is all but extinguished. Bobby's own heart pangs with deep sadness.

A painful moan escapes from Dean as he struggles to speak. "B'by? hurts...so much...hurts." Wheeze. Cough. Spit. "gone...S'm.. g..gone.. pit... Lucifer...Hell.."

And what does one say to someone who has just lost the one thing, the one person, that has kept them sane, kept them grounded for this long? "I know kid, I know." Pause. "Listen son, I can not and will not do what you ask. I know you are in all kinds of pain and I am so very sorry, but I can not let you just lay down here and die. I am still here, you are still here, and we still have each other. Together we are going to get through this. Somehow."

Bobby knows it. Dean is almost done. Almost gone. He watches Dean's focus drift towards the patch of earth that had consumed his brother and hears his disjointed words. "S'm? dead? sorry... S'my...so...sorry...shoulda been...me... protect...failed...sorry...forgive me... please..."

Okay, that is enough. Dean continues to ramble on and he twists and moans and bleeds and shivers. Bobby nods slightly in the direction Cas stands in and, as the angel crouches beside the two men, Bobby meets his gaze. "Do it Cas." Without another word the angel places his healing touch upon the man who lays before him, the man who helped save humanity, the man who is just moments away from death.

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The gasp that rings out startles the older hunter and he is caught off guard when he finds that the instant Dean's body recovers, the moment he is brought back from the brink, Bobby is tackled to the ground with such force that it knocks the wind out of him. And now Bobby looks into a stare of such intensity, such suffering that he swallows in reflex. Those green eyes. So full of pain and sorrow. So full of anger and rage. Even after everything that this young man has seen and done, Bobby has never seen that look appear on Dean's face before. And his body shivers in response.

"Bobby! Son of a bitch! You should have left me the hell alone! Should have left me to die!" Dean shouts, spits and shakes as he keeps an iron grip on the older man. Bobby can see that Dean is on the edge. His words are harsh but his eyes, rimmed with tears, betray them. It's only a matter of time until the meltdown starts, when his tough, nothing is wrong with me, don't need or want any help facade crumbles to lay in pieces around his feet.

So Bobby remains silent. He rides out the storm of Dean's verbal assault and waits for the inevitable moment. The moment when Dean falters and collapses into a boneless rag doll, unable to take the pain, unable to fight through the waves of anguish that currently cascade within him. Bobby just has to tough it out and wait for the moment when Dean's adrenaline rush begins to wane. Wait for the moment the broken man before him stops. The moment when he asks for help.

The older hunter watches Dean raise a fist in the air and inwardly flinches at the thought of all that rage and sorrow finding its release by way of coming down and connecting with his face. But he doesn't avert his eyes. They remain fixed on the man who keeps him pinned against the ground. He knows that it is grief that compels Dean, that motivates him to lash out. And Bobby is fully prepared to be an outlet for the other man's pain. If it can help him in some way he will let him unleash his fury on him. Besides, Bobby is taken by surprise at the strength that Dean possesses and doubts he could get out from under him even if he wanted to.

Bobby sees movement from the corner of his eye and notices Cas start to move towards the pair. The older man halts his advance in its tracks with a firm shake of his head. This has to happen. One way or another Dean has to let out some of his pain. Or it will eat him alive.

Dean's breaths are ragged, his mind in overdrive and, as he looks into the face of the man who has been like a second father to him, he finds he is confronted with yet another surge of emotion. One of pure hatred. And it is directed entirely onto himself. He doesn't want this. Can't hurt Bobby. Can not allow himself to hurt someone else that he cares about. He blinks in rapid succession to get his mind right. To realize that Bobby is not the cause of any of this. He is.

His expression softens, his fist falls and he scrambles off the older man. He rises to his feet, paces, clenches his jaw, and opens and closes his hands in a vain attempt to gain control against the agitation and hopelessness that has gripped him. He doesn't know what to do. He is lost. Does he run? Does he scream? Will anything dissipate the desperation, the agony that courses through his veins into his heart, into his very soul? He feels like he is going to explode. He can't think. He can't breathe. He needs to move. And he has an overwhelming urge to hit something. Anything. Now.

Dean collapses to his knees and pounds his right fist into the ground. "Sam.." Left fist. "Son of a bitch!" Right fist. "Shit." Left fist. "Damn it!" Right fist. "NO!" He beats the ground without mercy, over and over again the fists hit their target. He ignores the flashes of pain that shoot up from his hands, into his wrists, into his arms. Faster and faster his hands move and he is sure he feels the skin on his knuckles give, the sticky sensation of blood as it oozes through newly made wounds. But the fists continue their assault on the ground as they try in vain to vent some of their owner's anguish outward from his body into the earth below. By the time he is forced to stop, at the moment his body betrays him and he needs to gulp in air from the exertion, his shirt clings to his back, sweat runs into his eyes and the only sound Dean can hear is the beat of his heart as it fights to keep up with the rush of blood within his veins.

Dean's eyes are clamped shut but he can detect, through the sudden change of light behind them, that someone has now arrived inside his personal space. He lets out a sigh of frustration. He just wants to be left alone. Doesn't want to talk, doesn't want help, just wants to stay where he is, to wallow in his own grief. His sore and bloodied hands remain at their position on the ground and Bobby's gentle but firm voice filters through the fog his brain seems to be encased in. "Okay son, that's enough. No more. Time to get you out of here Dean. It's time to go."

Dean scoffs at that. Yeah, sure Bobby. He knows he will never be able to leave. No matter where he goes or what he does, he will be stuck at this point in time for the rest of his pathetic, useless life. Forever to be tortured. Forever to be in pain. Forever... his thoughts are halted as he feels himself be pulled up by strong hands. But even so, as soon as he is on his feet his legs buckle, he hears a grunt from Bobby and topples unceremoniously back to the ground. The side of his face is flush with the dirt and he can't move. It takes too much effort. Why bother? What is the point? He just wants to stay there, wants the sun to beat down on him, wants the vultures to circle and finish him off.

Sam is gone. And Dean? Well, the words once used against him by a certain horseman seem to crawl their way into his brain. Dean, you are already dead.

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**TBC... Thanks for reading, let me know what you think! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello to all and thanks for coming back for another installment of this story. I hope as always that you will enjoy and would love to hear what you think if you feel so inclined. I appreciate all who are taking a gander at this tale, I hope you will find some entertainment in this chapter. :)**

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Bobby stares at Dean where he lays. On the ground. Again. Right back where he started. As one gruff hand wipes across his bearded face, the other readjusts the forever present baseball cap. Bobby tries to figure out what his next move should be. It seems he is stuck in some kind of major, perpetual, twisted case of dejavu. Only this time Dean is not on the verge of death. He is physically fine. Every broken bone, every cut, every scrape, and every gash has been healed, as if they never existed in the first place. His body has been put back together. Yet he remains a boneless, lifeless heap on the dirt below, sprawled out in pain and agony. Destroyed. Completely and utterly.

Bobby leans down towards the young man. He needs to get him up on his feet, and he will get him up damn it, and over to the car and out of this shitty place even if it means dragging his stubborn ass all the way. As he continues his descent towards him the older man halts his progress, halts his movements as whispered words from Dean's mouth reach his ears. "Dean, you are already dead...dead...already dead...Dean, you are already dead...dead...already dead..." This time Bobby can not help it. Can not control it. He feels a tremble rise up and shake his entire body from its very core. A single tear escapes him and tracks its way down his haggard cheek.

"Damn it son. Where is your mind at? Where are you?"

Imploring eyes cast a glance towards Cas. If only the angel could heal the wounds that have been inflicted upon Dean's heart and mind as well. To repair the sorrow, the torment, the loss that course throughout him. Bobby motions for Cas to come closer, he won't be able to do this alone. Not this time.

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He sees the horseman, hears his vile words, the ones that cut him straight to his core. He's right. As much as he hates to admit it, Famine is right. He is already dead. Has been since he came back from Hell. Since he became the thing that he hates the most. Just another monster that has no business walking among the world of the living. They should have left him there. In Hell. That is where he belongs. Damn Cas for bringing him back. Sammy. He would still be alive. He would be living his life and growing old. Who knows what he would have become. Poor Sam, he was damned the moment he was born, his older brother made sure of that.

Movement startles the older Winchester out of his revelry and his speech stops. Weird. He didn't even realize he had been talking. His mind is all muddled up. He sees Bobby once again appear in his line of sight. It's hard to believe. Not ten minutes ago the man was dead. Because of him. Because he just had to face off against an entity of pure evil. Because he is a cocky son of a bitch who thought he, a piss poor excuse for a human being, could dance with the devil. And win. A sarcastic chuckle wells up inside him and he finds he just can't stop. He's laughing. Hysterically and out of control laughter comes out of him in waves. He must really be screwed up this time. Yeah, there is Bobby, alive and well, back from the dead, just like him, while Sam burns in the pit. Sammy. An innocent pawn in this crap game has lost his very soul. While his older brother lays here and laughs at the absurdity of it all. At the irony of it. The innocent are punished and the worthless are saved. Typical.

Dean swallows compulsively and pants heavily after his bout of laughter. Bobby. He has to get him away. Before he becomes another casualty of the curse. The curse that is Dean Winchester. He is poison, just a matter of time before his friend, his mentor is infected by it. Until he is killed. And probably in the worst way imaginable. He wants to tell Bobby to run, to get the hell away from him before he ends up in a world of suffering too. Bobby is better off without him. He just needs to convince the old guy that he is fine. He knows he can do it, he has done it his entire life. Nothing every gets through his defenses. He can shrug this off. He can make Bobby and Cas believe he's fine. It's no different this time.

He opens his mouth to fill the air with lies but finds the words are dead on his lips. Dean shuts his eyes as Bobby's face looms closer, full of concern and sympathy. He can not look him in the eye. If he does the floodgates will open, the tears will flow freely and right now Dean doesn't think he will have the control to shut off the waterworks.

"Son, you need to get up now. Please."

Okay. Showtime. Dean braces himself against the earth and begins to push his body up but finds he is met by nothing but weakness in his muscles and collapses back to the ground. He feels hands on him, Cas and Bobby flank him on either side and Dean feels himself rise slowly off the patch of earth he has occupied onto shaky and pretty much non functional legs and feet. He stands there for a moment until his appendages begin to cooperate and as soon as they do he tries to shake off the helping hands. He doesn't need help. Doesn't deserve it.

Bobby and Cas remain where they are, their arms in a grip around Dean's frame. The older hunter can feel Dean begin to struggle under his fingers. He feels exasperated. He can not fathom what is going on in the young man's head. His incessant need to refuse help, when he so obviously can not even stand on his own. After everything that Dean has done, has been through, the stupid idjit still can not accept the truth. That he is not responsible. Sam made his choice because there was no other way. And Dean made his choice. To let his brother go. If not for Dean. If not for Sam, the earth would be ablaze, awash in a hail of torment and darkness. Of fire and brimstone. If Lucifer had been unleashed upon the world chaos, death and suffering would reign. Dean is as much of a hero in all of this as his brother. Bobby will make him understand. He has to. He knows Dean. And he knows that the hunter will try to convince him he is fine, to just let him go. That Dean does not believe he is worthy of the help which the older hunter will force upon him and it pisses Bobby off to no end. Another deep sigh escapes him and he strengthens his resolve to get through to Dean.

"Dean, please. Stop fighting. Accept it, we are not going to leave you here. For once in your life you are going to let someone help you. You are going to give in. You are not going to drive off into the sunset by yourself. You are not going to ditch us. You are not going to just roam around in a fog for the rest of your life. Or do something stupid. I'm not gonna let that happen. I have already lost one of you boys and I will be DAMNED if I am going to lose both of you. So, stop being such a stubborn ass and let us be here for you. For once."

No. Not gonna happen man. "Wow, practice that speech much? Look, I'm fine now Bobby. Just needed a little rest and that spot on the ground was perfect. I'm good. Fine. Just needed to catch my breath. Good. 'M good now. You can let go."

"Do I look like an idiot to you? No Dean. Not this time. I am not buying the bullshit you are trying to sell me. You are not fine. You don't know what you are doing. You need real rest. And support. You can not just shrug this off. Not this time." The struggles emanate even stronger now and Bobby feels his patience snap and his anger at everything, at all this constant bullshit boil over and explode outwards from him in an unmatched stream of fury. He is powerless as all his rage and sadness and worry spew out from deep within his wounded heart. "DEAN! Stop it! Right now! DON'T MAKE ME KNOCK YOU OUT! DON'T THINK I WON'T DO IT! AND I WON'T USE CAS HERE TO DO IT, I'LL USE MY OWN DAMN FISTS TO KNOCK SOME SENSE INTO YOU!"

Bobby feels Dean push and pull and grunt and groan as he doubles his attempts to free himself from the hands that keep him upright. "I'M SORRY BUT SAM IS GONE DEAN! YOU CAN NOT PRETEND IT DIDN'T HAPPEN! YOU CAN NOT CHANGE THAT! HE IS GONE DAMMIT!" Bobby knows he should stop, that a line is very close to being crossed, but he can not help it. The cascade of his own emotions rolls in a continuous wave over him and his own grief mixes in with his desire to help Dean. Cruel to be kind. That is the name of the game right now. And if he can help Dean, maybe he can help himself too. "DON'T TRY AND TELL ME YOU ARE FINE, THAT YOU CAN JUST WALK AWAY INTACT! DON'T YOU DARE TRY TO CONVINCE ME THAT YOU CAN FORGET WHAT YOUR BROTHER HAS DONE HERE! DON'T LET HIM DOWN! HE WANTED YOU TO LIVE! TO HAVE A LIFE! TO MAKE HIS JOURNEY INTO THE PIT WORTH IT! DON'T LET HIM DOWN BY HIDING BEHIND YOUR MACHO BULLSHIT!"

Dean feels his body twitch and flinch and cave at Bobby's words. His legs give out, his attempt to convince the other men that he could walk out of here on his own steam extinguished in an instant as the words his home. Hit him straight in the heart. Bobby went right for the jugular and Dean feels like he is bleeding out from the wound. If he didn't feel so weak and pitiful and empty inside he would punch the old bastard in the face. How dare he. As if he needs to be reminded of what Sam has done. He will have to live with it for the rest of his stupid life so he sure the hell doesn't need anyone preaching to him about it. He doesn't need a refresher course to relive the memory of how Sam begged him to go on, to live an apple pie life. How he begged him to just go on, without him. His green eyes flash with rage and contempt, he hates Bobby right now. And he wants to hit him. Hard. But Dean's body betrays him. It does not cooperate and instead of allowing him to throw a very well deserved jab in Bobby's direction, he feels his body go limp, like a ball of putty that has just lost its cohesion.

Shit. The instant his rant is done, Bobby feels Dean's body turn to jelly in his hands. He scolds himself for his harsh and bitter words, surprised at his outburst and lack of control of his own emotions. Leave it to Dean to make him lose his cool. Damn it. His own breath is ragged in his ears and he flinches slightly as a soft touch is placed upon his shoulder.

"Bobby, I believe you are also in need of rest. I suggest we hasten our departure before Dean regains his strength and decides to resort to violence against you." The older hunter scoffs at Cas' words. The angel has been around them too long. He seems to know exactly what is going on here and Bobby can see the truth in his statement.

"Yeah Cas, you're right. Help me get him to the car. I think we both need a rest."

Sounds are muffled around him. He thinks he hears the other men talking but he can't make the words out. He is just so tired. And pissed off. And in pain. His body begins to move although he is pretty sure he is not the one in control of it. "Sorry boy, I am so sorry. Guess I am not handling things very well. Maybe you and your hotheadedness are rubbing off on me. You have a gift of crawling under my skin and making me lose my usually calm and cool demeanor." When he hears Bobby's voice it is laced with regret and guilt and it just confirms what he has thought all along. The sooner he is out of Bobby's life the better the old man will be.

"Now, let's get you over to that beautiful car of yours and head back to my place."

Dean swallows at those words. The car. No. He can't. He can not go into the car. He wants to protest, wants to beg Bobby not to make him go there but the words are stuck in his throat. They can not maneuver their way around the huge lump that has formed there. No. Not the car. Too much. Too much Sam in that car. Too much. Memories. Not yet. Please. Too soon. Can't.

Although hands remain on him, Dean stumbles backward and panic drives him to find the strength to halt their progress towards the Impala. He digs his heels into the earth and musters all his might to prevent himself from going any further. To his home on wheels. To the home he had shared with Sam. He feels his breath ramp up, hears the blood pump in his ears and starts to lose what little focus his eyes had gained and clung to up until this moment. Once again he is bombarded by images of his brother. A fast moving montage of the past few years spent on the hunt, on the road together. The laughs. The cries. The hurts. The arguments. The hateful words. The forgiveness. The fear. The joys. And always coming out of whatever they found themselves in, together and reasonably intact. The two brothers, side by side, ready to face whatever came their way. But not anymore. Never again.

Dean sees black dots float across his vision and scarcely notices as the edges start to blur. Faded words float around. He thinks maybe someone says his name but maybe not. He doesn't know and hell, he doesn't care. He feels like he is adrift, numb and oblivious to his surroundings. A thought travels through his jumbled up brain. He tries but he can't seem to take in any air. He isn't totally sure but he thinks he has forgotten how to breathe. That's what it is. That's why he is cloudy and can't concentrate.

And then a moment of clarity worms its way to him through the fog. He can't breathe.

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**TBC... Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello everyone and thanks for coming back to check out the next chapter. As always, feel free to send me your thoughts if you feel inclined to do so. I hope you will enjoy and thanks again!**

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Huh. He can't breathe. Weird. Somehow he thought it would be different. Worse. That he would claw panicked fingers at his throat. That he would reach out with flailing arms for help. That he would reach out for anything to help regain the ability to fill his lungs with precious air. But, now that he is in the throes of what normal people would consider their worst nightmare, it is not that bad. Or, maybe it's more that he doesn't really care if he ever takes in another breath.

He doesn't feel terror. Or panic. Hell, he doesn't seem to mind so much. It's calm. It's peaceful. It's quiet and dark. He strains to try and focus on something, to form some kind of concrete thought and can only come up with one. He snatches it up from somewhere in his mind and it tells him what he needs to know. That this is a better place to be. Cocooned in the tranquility of nothingness. He feels free. He feels relaxed. He feels perfectly fine. And he also begins to feel the tug of sleep wash over him in soft and gentle waves, lulling him into complete and utter calmness. The tendrils reach out to him, they wrap around his body and his mind and he feels serene. He hasn't felt like this in a very long time. He readies himself. He starts to drift his way into what he anticipates will be the best dream he has ever had. He smiles. And waits.

"DEAN!" The young hunter's body seems to transform itself into a piece of unyielding lead. Dead weight that makes Bobby grunt and groan with exertion to prevent the Winchester from once again becoming a fixture of this damn landscape. The weight seems to ease immediately off of the older man's aching bones as Castiel moves in to support more of Dean's form. Bobby looks up to the other man, to the angel, and feels slightly surprised that he can seem to carry the burden of Dean's body without straining one iota of one muscle. Huh. Angels. He watches Cas bend his head toward him and nod in Dean's direction.

"I can make him breathe. I can force air into his lungs."

God. The temptation is so strong. Bobby bites his tongue to prevent himself from caving in, from acquiescing to the angel's suggestion, to his offer immediately. It would be easy. It would be fast. But the truth is, Castiel will not always be right there, with his healing powers on stand by, ready to save Dean's ass at the drop of a hat. Bobby is glad Cas is there, will use him if he absolutely must but he needs to try. Needs to use his own Bobby-style tried and true persuasive techniques first. He needs to try and jump start Dean back into the world of the living the old fashioned way. The human way. Needs to at least try and break through to him without the use of heavenly intervention. Bobby sighs and slowly shakes his head.

"No Cas, not yet. Just hold him up, let me see if I can convince him in my own special stop being a damn idjit way." Bobby waits for the nod of understanding from the angel and allows for Cas to get a better grip on the young man. Once Dean is secure within the angel's grasp, the older hunter stands in front of the younger one and with a deep breath grabs hold of his shoulders and commences his attempt to get Dean to rejoin their party.

Dean feels himself shake. Or maybe the word is shudder. Either way, he feels himself shake or shudder again and again. It takes a moment for his oxygen deprived brain to register the fact. That it is not his body caught up in some kind of involuntary convulsion but rather it's a deliberate sensation, helped along quite aggressively by a pair of strong and determined arms. No. Dean is not ready to come back. He wants to be left here in the darkness, in the serenity. He wants to submit to his body's ever increasing longing for sleep. For rest. Wants to stay in the fog. Wants to be set adrift along in a sea of peace.

He is grateful when the shakes halt and the pressure on him withdraws. Finally. His moment of bliss ends its reign within milliseconds however as he feels the sting of a well placed slap tingle across his face and bring him back into the fray. Peachy. He opens his eyes a crack and feels the moisture of tears well up within them.

"DEAN! Breathe! Please, don't do this to me!"

Damn it. Dean automatically and by pure reflex gulps in a fraction of air because he recognizes the bellowing voice as Bobby's and the older man sounds scared. And then those good old Winchester instincts kick in to high gear. Dean has been so good at taking orders for so long that when someone screams at him and tells him to breathe he had better well listen and do it. And now, as his brain slowly starts to unmuddle itself, as the realization of where he is and why settles back into his mind, Dean wonders something. Why? It doesn't make any sense, he can not fathom the reason. Why would Bobby, or anyone else for that matter give two craps whether he lives or dies. Everyone would be so much better off if he would just go away. For good.

Dean wants so badly to go back into the blanket. Back into the warmth and comfort, the pain free existence that has now far too soon been ripped away from. He just wants to sleep already, and never wake up. Doesn't anyone besides him understand? Does he have to actually spell it out to them? Don't they get it? He is the one. The ass who started this whole damn thing. He broke the first seal and, well, they all know the rest of the tale, and at it's conclusion the truth is known. It consists of Dean being the cause of it all. The catalyst. The one who in the end doomed his own flesh and blood. His own brother. So, really, why exactly would Bobby give one flying...

Dean's train of thought is interrupted as he feels his hand be grabbed roughly and placed on the other man's chest. Okay. Awkward. "C'mon son, just follow me, you are still not getting enough air. Follow the rhythm of my breathing. Now breathe!" Dean gasps and tries to follow along, tries to concentrate on the rise and fall of Bobby's chest. Double damn it. He doesn't want to but guilt and obligation to the older hunter motivates him. His body itself decides to sell him out as if it is set on some kind of freaky auto pilot. One breath. Then another. And another. "That's it Dean, in and out. Slow and steady. In and out. Good, you are doing great. You're okay, you're gonna be okay son."

The veil over his eyes seems to lift, to clear a bit and once again he is forced to face the look. Of Bobby. The look which sports an array of emotions. Pain and fear and loss and sympathy are embedded in his mentor's face and he hates it. How many times is he going to be the cause of torment for all those he cares about? Why should Bobby stay? Why should he care? Shit. As his eyes leave the focus of Bobby's face, they scan beyond him and as his eyes blink, as they focus more and more, as shapes and objects begin to regain their clarity, he now stares in horror once again at the Impala. And he is forced to contend for what seems like the hundredth time a wave of crushing nausea and dizziness. Crap. He can not go in that car.

"Dean? What's going on with you boy?" The younger man peers into Bobby's eyes and silently wills his friend to be able to tell just by the look he conveys to him what the issue is. But the other man's searching eyes remind him yet again of the sheer magnitude of his loss. It is not his brother's face he stares into. And, for that reason, because no other person could ever read him the way that Sam could, he is made to verbalize the pain he feels. The one that his once beloved Impala has evoked.

He reaches out and clutches Bobby's arm like it is a life preserver, like he is the only thing that will anchor him and keep the young man from drowning. "Not...not the car Bobby...can't...not the car...too much Sam...just...can't..." Dean lets his eyes drop to the ground and lets his words hang in the air.

Bobby wonders how many times in one day he is going to feel a lump form in his throat. He looks to the vehicle parked just beyond where they stand. The Impala. An extension of Dean. Of Sam. Of their brotherly bond. Dean's pride and joy is currently the cause of the distress he finds himself in. Bobby sighs long and deep and places a comforting touch on the other man's shoulder. "Listen son, don't worry, the car can stay here for now. We'll get in the truck and head back to my place okay? You can rest on the way."

Rest? Dean actually laughs out loud at that. But it's not a joyful laugh. It's a sarcastic, bitter, I better laugh so I don't cry kind of laugh and it seems like an incredibly strange noise as it escapes his lips. That's a good one. He will never be able to rest again. How ironic that at the exact moment the thought enters his mind he is overcome by the weight of everything, feels it descend upon him, the mental and physical fatigue settles in and he feels incredibly tired. But it's different now. Not like the peace and warmth he experienced a short time ago. This feeling? It sucks. He feels depleted. His tank on empty. He will be damned if he will allow himself the respite of sleep. He can't. He won't. No sleep. No relaxation. Not when he knows that Sam will never be able t rest, will never know the luxury of closing his eyes. Not ever. For all eternity he will suffer.

The older Winchester shivers at the thought. He thinks maybe a side effect of his failure to save his brother is that he will be cold for the rest of his life. Huh. Bloody typical. Not so long ago he was burning in the pit of Hell. And now, now he is cold, frozen to the core. Maybe that is just what happens when the light that burned inside you, the spark that kept you warm and alive has been extinguished, snuffed out in an instant. He knows it. He will never be warm again. He will never be comfortable. He will remain cold. Like ice. Forever.

His legs start to move but they do so without any commands from him. He can feel the support of his friend Bobby on one side and can see the angel on the other side of him. An angel on his shoulder. Huh, that might have been a funny sort of thought a couple of days ago. Or maybe even yesterday. But now he sees no humour in it. No humour in anything. He figures those days are gone too.

The duo half carry, half drag Dean's body to the truck and Bobby smiles softly to him as he opens the door and motions for him to get in. "Get in son, I'm just gonna talk to Cas for a second."

The Winchester son wonders at what point it had happened. At what point it was that he turned into a weak and pathetic loser. A burden. What good is he to anyone if he can't even manage to get into a damn truck by himself, under his own steam. What a waste of air and space. He nods in Bobby's direction and as the door closes he seems to focus on a suddenly fascinating and incredibly intricate design embedded in the dash of Bobby's ride. He gazes out the window and sees the other two men in the midst of their discussion. He can't make out the words but he thinks they are probably talking about him. Probably fighting over which one has to look after his sorry hide. Probably just trying to figure out what the hell to do with him, where they can dump him and then head on down the road, never looking back. God, they must hate him. So much. And he can't blame them one little bit. He's surprised they have stuck around as long as they have. And now that the good half, the worthy half of team Winchester is gone, there is no need for them to pretend. He won't stay, he won't be around long enough to cause any more damage. He is done.

He looks back towards the dash and continues his staring contest with the inanimate object. He stares and stares at it, until all the images slowly fade into one. The sound of the door as it closes makes him jump and as his wild eyes scan the inside of the truck for the source, it takes a fraction of a second to realize it came from Bobby. He looks at the older man and cringes when his friend mutters a soft "Sorry boy."

Dean hears the words but they do not comfort him. They burn him. Sorry. Bobby has absolutely nothing to be sorry for. But he does. Dean. He has every reason to be sorry. He will not put this man through any more shit. He can't face him. He can't face Cas. Hell, he can even face himself. And he will not stick around to make any more mistakes. His mind is made up. The first chance he gets he is going to leave. He is going to check out. He will be gone. For good.

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**TBC...**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello everyone and thank you for stopping by to take a look at this next angst-filled chapter :) Thank you for all the wonderful comments and reviews you have sent my way, I truly appreciate it! I hope that you will enjoy and keep those reviews coming, they really make my day! Until next time... :)**

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Dean didn't even realize he had let his eyes drift closed until he finds himself being shook out of his stupor. "We're here Dean. Let's get you inside." Yeah, whatever. The hands. They are on him again and Dean doesn't think he can take anymore of this touchy, feely, let me help you because you have just lost your brother to the pit bullshit. Enough. He wants to be left alone already. Dean is more forceful in his attempts to escape Bobby's clutches, to remove the hands from their position on his body.

It should be Sam. It should be his hands. He should be the one here, by his brother's side, the one to look after him, the way he always has. He should be here. To carry him, drag him, annoy him and glare at him, all in an effort to keep him calm and grounded so whatever injuries he had could be tended to. But Sam isn't here. And Dean feels lost without those enormous hands to hold him up.

"Stop being such a stubborn ass Dean. You can barely even stand up on your own two feet. Don't make me carry you into the damn house. And I'll do it. You know I will." Bobby's words stop Dean's attempts to get free and the younger man allows and feels himself be pulled out of the truck and come to rest on the side of it. He can't look at Bobby. Instead, he settles his eyes on the dirt under his feet. "Dean? Are you still with me kid? Dean?"

Dean doesn't answer because he isn't even sure how to respond. No Bobby. Not really. Never again. It's like that saying. Dean has left the building. He is stuck in limbo, lost in thought of where his brother is. The questions roll around in his mixed up brain. What is happening to him? Right now, in the pit? Who is there to rescue his younger brother from the chaos, the torment, the unrelenting pain that only Hell can create? Dean feels a gust of air exit his mouth as the answer seems to tear him up inside. No one. No one is there to save him. He is suffering and he is alone.

Dean feels his body shake involuntarily. He knows that his brother, right now at this moment, is more than likely screaming out to him. Calling out for Dean. Because Dean just happens to know a little something about it. He remembers. He was there. In Hell. And he remembers the way he used to scream out for help. And how none ever came. How he bellowed and begged and cried out to Sam until his throat was so raw that nothing other than a croak came out. And even then he would try, would whisper out to his brother. To save him.

So Dean can not just go on with his life. He can not pretend to be oblivious to the horrors of that damned place. Can't pretend that Sam just up and disappeared one day and that he doesn't know exactly where he went. He can not pretend he doesn't know what the most important person to ever be a part of his life is going through. He knows all too well. But then again, he doesn't know everything. Although his own trip downstairs was no picnic, Dean knows that Sam's journey will be infinitely worse. Because Sam is in the blackest recesses of the pit. With Satan himself.

Dean can feel a shiver shake through his body as that thought hits home. And then it starts. Images. Of his own experiences in Hell. They rush in a torrent through his mind and all those memories he has worked so damn hard to bury deep within himself begin to flood out in every direction. They rain down on him in buckets and he is caught in a living nightmare. He begins to relive his own torture again and again like some kind of pitiful slow motion replay.

He pushes off from the truck and weaves a pattern across the yard until he just can't fight the burn that rages in his chest, the onslaught of raw terror that infiltrates every sense, every pore, every inch of his body. The terror he feels because his baby brother, his Sammy, is locked in the cage with the daddy of them all. With the worst of the worst. Whatever he himself had gone through will seem like a walk in the park in comparison to what Sam will endure. And that knowledge rips through him. It burdens him. It mocks him. It haunts him. And he swears he can hear the echo of Alistair's laughter in his ears and instinctively raises his hands to his head to try and block out the sound.

"Stop...no...stop...STOP! You are NOT here!"

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Okay, that outburst has gotten Bobby's attention, and fast. The older man hadn't tried to stop Dean when he rushed away from the truck. He can not imagine what pain the younger man is in so felt it best to give him at least one minute of freedom, to try and work through whatever thoughts were floating around in his mind. But Bobby can not sit back any longer, not when Dean seems to be stuck in some kind of flashback mode. And, because of what has happened, he is pretty sure the young Winchester has travelled back to the worst place imaginable. Straight into Hell. Bobby keeps an eye on the other man's movements as he begins his approach and suddenly wishes that Castiel had stuck around.

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Dean falters halfway between the truck and the house when he can no longer contain the sickness he feels rise up from his gut into his throat. He falls to his knees and heaves and heaves until there is nothing left. And then, as his body revolts against him again, he heaves some more. The flashes continue and a myriad of memories infect his mind. Flashes of Lucifer wearing Sam's skin. Of Lucifer pounding the shit out of him. Flashes of Sam's sweet face right before he jumped into the cage.

Flashes of Hell, of his time on the rack. Of seeing his own blood, his own skin, his own bone. A person should never see their own bones protrude through their skin, not while they are awake and aware and conscious of the sensation and the sound of each bone as it breaks. Of each cut as it gouges a sickly pattern into their skin.

The damn images. They don't abate in their intensity and realism. They replay, rewind, and then replay over and over in his mind and the older Winchester son is helpless to stop it. He is at the mercy of his own disturbed brain. He has been sucked right back into Hell. He sees himself. He is now free of the rack and his breath hitches as it is now his turn. To wield the implements of unending torture onto other souls. His turn to cut, to burn, to peel, and break Hell's next victim. He has no pity. No remorse. When he looks to the rack he instead feels relief that he is no longer the one fastened there. He stares in shock when the new face imprisoned there comes into view. He stares. Into the eyes of Sam.

Dean shakes his head to dislodge the image. He knows it is not real. He knows he did not torture his brother, but he can not even begin to count how many souls that were tortured at his own hands. He gulps back another rise of nausea as he stays where he is, on his knees. He wants it to end. He doesn't know how much more he can take. Wave of wave of agony continue their assault on him and Dean is left to wonder if this is what it feels like when a person's mind finally snaps.

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Bobby finds he is at a loss and that fact terrifies the older man. He doesn't know how he can fix this. How he can put Dean Winchester back together again. He doesn't know where to start. He scolds himself. He needs to start by getting Dean out of whatever prison his mind has trapped him in and quick. He crouches beside him and sees the tears flow freely from the young man's face and drip down to the ground below. He tentatively reaches out and touches Dean's shoulder. "Dean?"

The eyes open widely and Bobby watches in morbid fascination as Dean begins an inspection of his own body. He looks to his hands, touches his face, tracks his hands over his chest and lifts his shirt up as if to make sure that he is truly still in one piece. He moves through each section of his body until the movements finally stop and bleary eyes look towards the older man who is crouched beside him.

"Bobby?"

At first the older man finds he can not speak, can only seem to nod his head to Dean for reassurance. But, he desperately wants to know what just happened and right now might be the best and only chance he gets. "Dean. What did you see son? Where were you?" Those green eyes seem to dim and stare blankly off to the side somewhere, out into the distance. It isn't until Bobby hears Dean take in a shaky breath that he realizes he may actually get an answer to his question.

"I...I...was back there Bobby. In Hell...I...it..." Dean's eyes drift to his hands once again and Bobby notices the tremble that has now taken hold of them. "It...me...blood...Alistair...he laughed while he...he..."

Bobby wants to shout out to the other man that it's over, he is no longer in Hell. That he doesn't have to talk about it. But, truth be told, Bobby does not know much of this man's time on the other side and if he is going to help him through this, the more he knows the better he can do it. So, as much as it pains the older hunter to listen to, he does not interrupt, just listens in shock and disbelief.

"...laughed while he sliced...while he diced...filleted...burned...broke...seared...engraved...my body...my blood...my bones...laughed..."

Now it is Bobby's turn. To fight a wave of nausea as it swirls around in his own body. Okay, that is definitely enough for now. He firms up the squeeze on Dean's shoulder in a weak attempt at comfort. Because really, how can anything make this better?

"You're safe son. You are back. Out of Hell. Just hanging out with the old man here at the salvage yard. It's over Dean. So, what do you say, up and at em, my old bones are creaking sitting on the ground so let's get ourselves inside and have a drink."

Bobby does not wait for a verbal response before he stands slowly and extends his hand towards the other man. He is relieved when he feels the grip of Dean's hand on his arm. "Yeah, sure Bobby, you are pretty old. You may fall down and never get back up huh?"

Bobby knows it is an attempt to make him feel better but it falls flat. There is no lightness, no frivolity, no joy in those words or in the eyes of Dean. No spark. No life. Just darkness. Bobby feels an overwhelming surge of fear creep up on him as he helps Dean to his feet and the two men stagger towards the house.

Fear. That Dean will not be able to bounce back this time. Fear. That he will just give in because he has nothing left to live for. Fear. That Dean will give up and allow himself to fade, into nothingness.

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**TBC.. Thanks for reading! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi everyone and thanks for coming back for another round of angsty angst! :) I want to thank all of those out there who are taking a look at my little story and for all of you who have sent along your thoughts, I appreciate it very much! I hope you will enjoy this chapter. Thanks again!**

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As the men continue their trek to the house, Bobby wonders how it is that his damn place now seems to be miles and miles away. He can feel the pressure of Dean's body as the younger man leans progressively more onto his side. "Almost there Dean. Almost there." Bobby doesn't really expect an answer and he doesn't get one.

They finally maneuver their way inside and Bobby guides Dean onto the sofa, and only then takes a moment himself to collect his thoughts and his breath.

"You mentioned something about a drink Bobby? Think I could use one." Bobby can see a slight twitch in the young hunter's face. He thinks it is probably another attempt by the eldest Winchester to show Bobby some flicker of his former self. As though he tried and failed to aim for the sparkling grin that once had the ability to light up even the darkest room. Damn it Dean, just give it and yourself a rest already. There is no need to impress anyone with your nothing can dent my armour bullshit. Bobby doesn't know whether a drink is really the best idea but what the hell, he was planning on having one or two so how can he possibly deny the broken shell of a man slumping on his couch the same?

"Sure thing kid, be right back."

Dean doesn't know what to do. He wants to just close his eyes and forget. Wants to wake up from the nightmare that has invaded and wormed its way into his every pore, into every fibre of his being. He wants to run. Wants to hide. Wants to scream. Cry. Curse. Curl up in a ball and die. But, since he is pretty sure he doesn't even have the strength right now to take off his damn jacket he supposes he will have to settle for a drink, or twenty. He lifts his head to meet Bobby's gaze as the older man hands over the sweet stuff, thunks the bottle on the table and sits in the chair beside the sofa. "Thanks Bobby. Thanks."

Bobby eyes Dean, very closely. Inspects him with a casual glance so that the other man doesn't catch on to the fact that he is being inspected and scrutinized from head to toe. Those baseball caps are good for a couple of things. They can keep unruly hair, or lack there of out of sight, and they can hide probing eyes when the angle of the hat is tilted just so. Bobby starts to feel that all his stealth is not required and that he doesn't even need to hide what it is that he is doing one little bit.

Because Dean just sits there, his eyes stare straight ahead and they look at the glass in his hand as if it is the most interesting object that has ever existed. Poor kid really is at a loss of what to do next. The older hunter won't press him, not yet, but sooner or later Dean is gonna have to let go and have a heart to heart with him, for his own sake.

Dean swishes the liquid around in the glass. He wants to drink it all in one gulp. But he can't seem to do it. Not yet. It's not fair. Sure, he can try and numb the pain, replace the burn that has settled into him from the loss with the burn that accompanies a good buzz from the whiskey. But, how can he indulge in the most simple of guilty pleasures when Sam, his brother, literally burns?

But God, he has to do something. Anything. Or he'll go crazy. He tips the glass and empties its contents in no time flat. And it feels good. Before his brain can tell his hand to stop, he fills his glass to the rim and takes in another long swig. Huh. He must be off his game. The alcohol seems to hit him instantly and he feels the warmth flow through his veins and for a moment, although only a brief one, the pain ebbs in its intensity.

"Easy Dean, slow down. I am not really up to the task of having to clean up your bodily fluids just yet." Bobby had meant it as a joke, a little nudge to get the younger man to ease off a bit. The last thing Dean needs is to sport a nasty hangover along with all his other woes. But Bobby can see by the look Dean gives him that his best intentions have only aggravated an already screwed up situation. That look. It starts off like there are several daggers being hurled in his direction and Bobby tries not to flinch as he braces himself for a typical Dean tongue lashing.

But that look, it is only a fleeting one. It stays on Dean's face for only a second, replaced instead by a look of complete devastation. Well, the older man did not expect that, and for a moment he finds himself make a wish for the angry, uncontrollable version of the other man. Because at least the pissed off, stubborn, angrier than angry Dean is something he can easily handle. He has dealt with that Dean hundreds of times.

When the tears start to flow in a steady stream and the breath starts to increase, Bobby feels like he is about to be on the receiving end, not of anger or rage, but of pure, raw, and guttural emotion. This is a Dean he has seen very few times. And he definitely feels out of his comfort zone.

"I'm...so sorry Bobby...I...it's...I just...don't know what to do. What the hell am I supposed to do now? How do I... I...he...was my whole reason for staying in the game...helped me carry on after everything...my reason for going on, for living. But...how am I supposed to live now? Without him? He was...everything Bobby and I...I took him away. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?"

Bobby doesn't even get the chance to respond before Dean stands up like a shot. The older man swears he is about to bolt. Dean looks around with wild, red rimmed eyes and Bobby notices him grip the arm of the couch, as if it is all that keeps him from toppling over in a heap of emotional goo.

Bobby rises up silent and slow, not sure what to expect. He doesn't want to speak or approach too quickly because that may just give Dean the extra incentive he needs to make a run for it. One thing the older hunter has learned, come after Dean before he is ready and his instincts are that of a caged animal. All bark and all bite. Not that Bobby thinks he would get too far. Then again, he doesn't think he is in the mood to tackle the young man to the floor either. He doesn't want to hurt him, not after all of this shit. So, Bobby opts to wait it out. Watch and see what Dean's next move will be. And, as it turns out, Dean can still surprise the old man.

Dean's body betrays him. Again. He wants to run. To where, he doesn't know. To do what, he doesn't really care. He wants to run as far as his legs will take him. Maybe if he just ran and ran and ran he would collapse from exhaustion and kiss this stupid world goodbye. But he knows he can't. At least not right now. The only running he can seem to do, can accomplish right now, is the constant motion that goes through his head. He spins round and round, replays moment after moment and it makes him dizzy. And his body. It's so damn tired. His legs don't wanna move. His balance is off. He isn't even strong enough to stand up for more than five minutes let alone run like a bat out of hell.

He'll just have to wait, maybe one more day, and then he will be gone. Find a hole in the wall, in the ground somewhere off the grid, and drink himself into oblivion. Until his damn heart just gives up and gives out. Or maybe he'll go and pick a fight that he knows he can't win. But right now, he's pretty sure that even if he tried to leave, Bobby would be on him like flies on shit. And man, the old guy has been through quite enough already. He doesn't need to add babysitter to the list of shit jobs he has already done for Dean. Because of him. He deserves better.

Bobby watches as Dean gingerly sits back down on the couch. Whatever plan the young man had intended to carry out has been thwarted, at least for the time being, and Bobby lets out a small sigh of relief. Dean grabs his glass again and as he brings it closer and closer to his lips Bobby finds the next look that emanates from him absolutely heartbreaking. Dean. He looks straight at him, as if he now has to ask silent permission from him in order to take that next drink. Truth be told, Bobby feels more than a little unnerved by it. Since when does Dean give a shit whether the older man approves of what he does or not?

Right. The answer comes to him and is accompanied by a sudden shiver. Things are different now. Dean has changed. Everything has changed. Ever since he watched his brother take that nosedive, right into Hell.

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**TBC... Thanks for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello all! Thanks for coming back to check in on this story. Thanks to all who have stuck with me on this journey and for all the wonderful reviews and comments, it does the heart good. :) I hope as always that you enjoy this latest chapter. Thanks again!**

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Bobby stays where he is. Content to sit in his old, beat up, Archie Bunker style chair and wait Dean out. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to decipher the clues, to see the writing on the wall, the evidence that stares him right in the face. He can see the way Dean's eyes start to close for the briefest of moments. Can see how his head dips down every so often and stays there for a period of time. How he almost misses the table with his glass now and then. How the intervals between taking a drink are spread out more and more and the attempts progressively lessen in their frequency. Bobby can tell. The Winchester son is well on his way to a reprieve. To a welcome, brain numbing state of being. It won't be long until the poor kid passes out.

Woah. Almost totally missed the table on that one. Yup, there is no doubt in his mind, he is definitely drunk. Huh, that didn't seem to take too long. He watches in fascination as the glass in his hand appears to be in a constant state of flux. It stays still, then goes out of focus and multiplies, before it meshes back into a single form again. Ah, the wonders and powers of alcohol. A truly magical potion. He sends a silent word of thanks to whomever the genius was who discovered it. Maybe it was named after the dude. Mr. Alcohol. Has a certain ring to it. Okay. Brain is definitely on the fritz. It has officially left the building.

Bobby just sits there. He does not say one word. Because really, if he did decide to strike up a conversation what words would he use? I'm sorry? Or, everything will be okay? How about, you'll see things differently tomorrow? Hell, that bullshit might work if Dean's prom date had just stood him up, or may even take the edge off if the Impala wound up with a scratch on her beautiful paint job. But not for this. Not this. Those words would mean nothing, they would offer no comfort. No words can take the pain away. So, Bobby just sits there in a kind of silent vigil, far enough away to allow Dean some space, yet close enough if the young man needs him.

It gets more and more difficult to focus. He wants to drink more, wants to taste the burn of the whiskey in his mouth, down his throat, in the pit of his stomach. But it gets harder and harder to get his hand to move, to bring the glass to his mouth. He figures he has just about reached the third sheet to the wind stage of drunkenness. What a stupid saying. Shit. Great, now he feels another sensation flow through him. He really needs to take a leak. Oh well, it shouldn't be too hard, he's been shitfaced before and always managed right?

Dean begins to rise from the sofa and Bobby instantly reaches out to steady his wavering form. "Dean, what are you doing son? Maybe you should sit your ass back down before you fall down." Glassy eyes look to his and Bobby once again sees a ghost of a smirk cross his face.

"M good Bob'y. Need ta piss. That k?"

Bobby feels his cheeks flush slightly. Oh, well he supposes he can't deny the boy a trip to the can. "Oh. Okay, sorry. Just take it slow Dean, you are what we sober folks like to call drunk as a skunk."

"nother dum sayin...skuk druk..no sense B'by."

Bobby watches Dean's slow trek towards the bathroom. If it weren't for the circumstances of the day Bobby would be all over this. The young man can't even walk two paces before he fumbles and stumbles and is forced to steady himself on whatever happens to be around. The wall. A chair. Bobby actually does break out into a smile when he hears Dean mumble something, as he gives the latest obstacle in his way a good talking to. Like that particular item had no business being there in the first place.

He enters the room and weaves his way towards the toilet. He actually sighs when he is relieved of the liquid that had been sloshing around in his system. Mission accomplished, he leans his hands on the vanity and keeps his eyes closed as he tries try to wrangle in another round of alcohol induced dizziness. He hasn't felt this pissed since...since he got back from Hell. When the only way he could make it through the day, the only way he could get even a moment's peace was when he was flying so high that it would take years to tumble back down into the pit.

Bobby gets an uneasy feeling in the bottom of his gut as he watches the young hunter step inside and close the door. Sure, the kid may be floating high as a kite but Bobby does not want to leave him alone for any length of time. Not until he can get a read on where his mind is at. On what his intentions are. He has already seen first hand the emotional strain this whole pile of crap has put Dean in. God, the fact that he didn't want to be healed by Cas had sent a very clear message to Bobby. The boy had wanted to do nothing else but lay down and die. Right there on the dirt. Like some kind of wounded animal. And, no matter how many times Dean has tried to cover it up, Bobby knows the truth. He is hurt and very unstable. He is far from convinced that Dean would not try to off himself the first chance he gets. So, until his mind is in a better place, the older man is not gonna let him out of his sight for very long. And that last thought is what motivates Bobby to begin his own trek to the bathroom door.

Shit. Hell. Pit. Sam. Dean's eyes flicker up to the mirror and the sight that greets him there freaks him out. It's him. It's his face. But he doesn't see his usual brimming with brightness green eyes. They are black. Those eyes that stare back at him through the glass. They are demon eyes. His demon eyes. He turned into one of those bastards while he was there. He became the thing that he has hunted his whole life, that he hates with every part of himself. And now it stares at him through the mirror. Like a window into his own soul. He hates himself. For who he is. For what he has done. For how he has failed his brother.

A switch has been turned on and it's as if the alcohol has evaporated from his system in an instant. No more warmth. No more fuzzy feeling. No more fog. Just the cold, hard, and ugly truth. He stares straight at his own reflection and it stares back. To mock him. To taunt him. To remind him. Because no amount of alcohol will change the facts. He can not hide from it. From that part of himself. From the devil within. He winds up and sends a fist to fly into that damn face. The face that seems to smile at him, straight from Hell itself. The glass ruptures and splinters and as the face slowly fades from sight, piece by piece, Dean laughs. A mad, unhinged, on the brink of madness kind of laugh.

"Take that, you sack of shit! Not smiling anymore are you, you worthless, spineless dick! Just die already! JUST! DIE!" The fist pounds and pounds, relentless in its attack. It doesn't falter and it doesn't stop. Not until the very last fragment of glass breaks free from the wall and tumbles to the floor below.

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**TBC... Thanks for stopping by!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Welcome back everyone and THANK YOU for all your lovely comments and reviews on this story, I am absolutely thrilled that you are enjoying this journey! I hope as always that you will like this latest chapter. It's dark but I think I was in a bit of a dark place when I wrote it. Feel free to review, I love to hear what you think! Thanks again! :)**

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Bobby rushes through the last few feet to the bathroom door as a silent chant of 'please be open...please be open' echoes through his mind. He had heard Dean yell and had heard the distinctive sound of glass breaking. Of his bathroom mirror as it was smashed. Bobby has no doubt what has happened in there and the sigh he lets out in pure relief when the door turns without any resistance is instantly silenced by the sight he gazes upon on the other side of that door. He feels his breath stop. The older man has seen a lot of things. Disturbing things. Frightening things. But the sight of Dean at this moment tops the list of the worst things he has ever had the misfortune to witness. Because Dean is family. And he is in deep trouble.

Dean stands there, his eyes fixed intently on the wall where Bobby's mirror used to hang. His rapid and unsteady intake of air tells Bobby that Dean is not really in the room with him, but rather he is totally immersed in whatever he thinks he sees in that now non-existent mirror. His eyes travel down to where Dean has rested his hands, as they grip each side of the sink. The older hunter is shocked, almost mesmerized at how much blood there is. How it just drips steadily from the young man's hand, down the side of the vanity and begins to puddle into a crimson pool on the floor.

Dean's hand. It oozes life sustaining liquid at an alarming rate and Bobby can tell that Dean's mind has not even registered the fact that it is pretty much torn to shreds. Bobby can even see the shimmer of glass shards as they poke out from their embedded place in the other man's flesh, as the light within the room reflects off of them. The amount of pain that courses through Dean's hand should be intolerable, unbearable, yet he remains where he is. No noises. No groans. Not one effort to stop the blood from its continuous flow out of his body. That makes it official. What Bobby had feared has come true. Dean has become unhinged and that makes him unpredictable. The Dean train has now left the station. And that fact scares the older man to death.

Bobby takes a very cautious step towards Dean and notices that every muscle in his face, in his neck, in his shoulders is taut like a guitar string ready to blow. His stare doesn't waver, it remains sure and steady, like he is trying to bore a hole right through the wall in front of him. What is it that he sees there? What is it that has conjured up and etched such a look of hate, of loathing into his young face? Bobby feels a bit unsure of just what he should do. He doesn't want to startle him but he knows he needs to get to that hand before the dumb ass bleeds to death in the damn bathroom of all places. He has to get him out of here, out of whatever nightmare the poor kid has gotten himself sucked into. Again.

"Dean? Let me see your hand son. We need to stop the bleeding. Let me help you." He makes another move to close the distance between the two men and can see Dean's head tilt to the side, as if his brain has just acknowledged the presence of the older hunter.

"Bobby. Stay back. Stay the hell back. Don't come near me. I don't want to hurt you Bobby. Not anymore. All of this is on me. You just need to leave me alone. Let me do what I have to do. You and everyone else I have tainted throughout my screwed up life will finally be at peace."

The voice is Dean's but it is not the same Dean that Bobby has watched out for over the years. The voice that invades Bobby's senses is filled with such resignation, such acceptance of the bullshit that it has just spewed out that Bobby feels, for just a moment, a twinge of intimidation at the fact that those words are seemingly devoid of any real emotion. Bobby is getting a very, very bad feeling about this.

It isn't until he takes another step, until he is close enough to get a better view from beside Dean, that the fear in his gut increases by ten fold. He stares at Dean's hand. It becomes painfully clear to the older man exactly where all that damn blood stems from. Not only is it full of glass slivers and cuts of all depths and sizes, it also currently wields a shard of glass in its grasp. And Dean is holding the mirror piece so tightly that it is slicing right into his own damn hand. That is bad. Very, very bad.

"Let go of the glass Dean. You need to let it go. Please son, please just drop it." Bobby waits and wonders if any of his words reach Dean's ears. Bobby feels his own heartbeat quicken and any lingering doubts of Dean's mental state have been smashed into a million pieces, just like the remnants of the mirror that lay scattered on the bathroom floor. He is not in his right mind and Bobby does not want to find out just what it is that the young man intends to do with the weapon in his hand. But he can't help the shiver that runs through him. Because he already knows. He can not hide from the fact. What his instincts are shouting out to him loud and clear. Dean. The young man in front of him. The one he considers a son. He wants to die. "Dean, please. You need to calm down, drop the damn thing and get the hell out of here with me. Let's forget about it and go have ourselves another drink. What do you say kid? Time for a nightcap?"

Dean turns his head to look at Bobby then. And the older hunter freezes. The look in his eyes terrifies him. "I'm calm Bobby. Don't worry, I know exactly what I am doing. I've never been this sure about anything in my whole damn life. Something I should have done a long time ago. You'll thank me. You will all thank me."

Bobby takes another step closer as Dean backs up from the sink. "Dean, just stop. Please, whatever you are thinking of doing, please don't. Do not do this. Don't. I...I need you son. Don't do this to me."

"C'mon Bobby, you don't need to pretend anymore. Don't you see? I am doing you a damn favour! You know as well as I do that I shouldn't even be here. I should still be burning in the pit. I deserve to be there but... " Bobby notices a slight pause in the younger man's rant. A brief moment where he loses his focus and balance for a split second before once again gazing into the fearful eyes of his mentor.

"God Bobby, don't you get it? Sam is there because of ME! Because of what I DID! Not you, not anyone else. It is entirely MY FAULT! And what I did in the pit Bobby? If you only knew...you would run as far away from me as you could. You would hate me. And you should. I am tainted. I am evil. It's time to end it. Set things right, once and for all."

Okay, that is a very real threat and there is no way that Bobby is just going to stand there slack jawed and allow Dean to follow through with what his messed up mind thinks he needs to do.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion yet probably spans all of fifteen seconds. Bobby moves towards Dean again with hands raised and eyes silently begging him to stop this. Dean takes another step backwards and when he finds that he is now up against the wall, with nowhere left to run, he raises the shard, ready to strike. Bobby cringes and mutters a soft 'Cas, help me' as he realizes in horror that Dean is intent on stabbing himself in the neck.

The young man seems to falter again and this time Bobby is ready. He has never been so thankful to witness the effects of alcohol and blood loss up close. That's a first. He actually feels glad that Dean is currently experiencing that normally very bad and dangerous combination. But hell, it beats the alternative. Beats letting Dean finish what he has started. And in the moment that Dean reels from those effects Bobby is given the opening he needs. And he does not hesitate.

Hunter reflexes kick in and Bobby lunges towards him, grabbing his weapon-yielding arm and looking Dean right in the eye. "DEAN! What the hell are you doing? This is not the answer! Please son! Listen to me Dean..." Bobby is stopped mid sentence when the familiar flutter of angel wings fills the air and he sees Cas appear right beside the younger hunter. Dean has heard it too and by the look on his face he is less than pleased at the angel's impromptu arrival. He lets out a howl of rage and defiance and just as he begins to squirm and fight the hold that Bobby has on him the voice of the angel cuts through the tension.

"It's time to stop fighting. Sleep now Dean. Rest." Cas reaches out and as soon as he touches the forehead of the wounded man he collapses into a boneless heap and falls into the waiting arms of Bobby.

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**TBC.. Thank you for taking the time to read. :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**A big howdy to everyone and thanks for coming back! Double thanks to all of you who have sent me some most fabulous and appreciated reviews and comments! YAY for reviews! Don't be shy, if you are in the mood please feel free to send some more my way, it definitely is a fantastic motivator! Enjoy! :)**

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Bobby catches Dean as he slumps over, as he is forcefully delivered from the pain and anguish that the older man saw in his confused eyes meres seconds ago to a sudden state of rest. He finds that he himself is overcome by the sheer magnitude of what he has just seen. Bobby finds the weight too much to bear. His legs seem to turn to jelly and because he can no longer stay upright, he slowly sinks to the ground, his precious cargo in tow. He holds Dean tightly, mindful of his damaged hand but more concerned about his damaged heart. So he holds him, like a parent who tries their best to soothe a wounded child.

So close. He was so damn close to losing him. Bobby's mind replays the events and the shock of what occurred rattles him, right to his core. He wonders how things would have turned out if Cas had not arrived when he did. Bobby had felt the power, the adrenaline rush that surged through the young man's irrational mind and body. But would he have been able to stop it? Or would Dean have gotten away from him and done it? Would Dean have actually thrust that damn glass into his throat and then just let the life spill out of him?

Bobby shudders when he recalls the look on Dean's face. Yes, he would have done it. Without hesitation, without any regard for self preservation. Because he honestly thinks he deserves it. That the whole damn planet would be better off without him in it. God. Bobby can't get the image out of his head. Dean's eyes. So cold. Devoid of all emotion except for one. Hatred. Of himself.

The questions keep up a continuous loop in his brain. Would he have been forced to watch Dean die? To watch him take his last breath? Bobby shivers at what that would have meant. Both boys, both Winchesters, gone, just like that. He shakes from the coldness that the image forces upon him and he unconsciously runs his hand over Dean's sweaty brow. Damn it. He can't lose him.

Bobby carefully wraps Dean's hand in a towel that had settled itself conveniently within reach during the previous scuffle. It is going to take some fancy suturing and delicate glass removal techniques to repair, and Bobby sighs at the thought of having to sew this kid back together again. It is going to hurt like a son of a bitch, no doubt about it. He knows the young man is hurt bad and needs attention sooner than later, but he can not find the strength within himself to get up. Not yet. He needs to gather his wits first. To try and cope with what Dean was so desperate to do.

And then it happens. It's almost unthinkable. It happens right there, in the middle of the damn bathroom floor. Bobby Singer, the tough as nails, no bullshit hunter of evil and unofficial keeper of the Winchester sons, cradles Dean gently and begins to rock with him back and forth on the floor. There may even be a soft hum heard as it vibrates through the older man's chest.

He leans his head down so it rests on top of Dean's and then, right there in that small room, Bobby Singer starts to sob. It starts off soft and stoic but soon gains in momentum and volume. Freely, openly and without reservation the tears come. They cascade in a steady stream, down along his cheeks, until they settle themselves in the confines of his scruffy beard. And he doesn't care. Not one damn bit.

He needs to allow himself this moment, this one fleeting moment, to wallow in his own pain. To let his guard down, to just let go and expel some of his own grief, his own sorrow at all that has been lost. Bobby cries. He cries like he has not done since his beloved wife died at his own hand. He cries out into the small room and hears the echo of his own anguish bounce around off the walls. He cries. For Dean. For Sam. For himself.

And the list goes on and on. For Ellen. For Jo. For Ash. He cries for every single person who has suffered, who has died in order to stop the evil that lies in wait just beyond this world from taking hold of it at its forefront. He cries for the people who selflessly gave their lives to prevent the end of the world. He cries for them all. And for the world itself. For its loss of heroes it doesn't even know existed.

As Bobby looks down once again to Dean's form he is overcome by such a deep sadness. It is then that he realizes. That above all others, he cries for this man. For Dean. For the fragile, old beyond his years man that he keeps watch over. For all that has been taken from him. For all he has suffered. And endured. And sacrificed. Just to wind up here, at this spot in the end. Torn. Broken. Adrift on a sea of misery. Willing to die to make the pain stop.

It isn't until a gentle voice once again filters through the room that Bobby stops his internal dialogue and snaps back into the reality of the moment. "Bobby. I am sorry but we need to move him. I can not stay for long. The war rages and I must soon return."

The older man clears his throat, wipes his eyes and tear stained face, and looks up into the face of the angel. The gratitude he feels for this heavenly being is immense. Cas. The angel who chose mankind over his own, who has become a friend to both himself and to Dean, who may very well have saved the young hunter's life today. Again. "Cas. Thank you."

Bobby does not wait for a reply as he is spurred into action when a quick glance towards Dean tells him that his pallor has changed from a pale hue to one of deathly white. Shit. That's what happens when you give in to your own emotions, dumb ass. "Help me with him Cas." The angel obliges and once again Bobby is thankful for the strength that lies hidden beneath his human form. In no time at all the duo have removed Dean from the carnage of the bathroom to the relative comfort of Bobby's sofa.

It isn't long before Bobby sees the angel do one of his far off, thoughful gazes and the hunter knows his departure is imminent. "I must go Bobby. I will return but contact me if you require assistance again." And with those words and another rush of air the angel is gone.

Bobby is left alone to stand there. To gaze upon and treat the wounds of this number one pain in his ass idjit. The tears are now dry, and they leave an extremely pissed off, not to be messed with old man who currently itches to tear the youngster a new one in their wake.

As the older man begins to gather up the various supplies he will need to put Humpty Dumpty back together again, one thing is for damn certain.

Dean Winchester has one hell of a lot of explaining to do.

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**TBC... Thanks as always for stopping by! :)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Sorry for the delay, I just haven't been in the right mind space until now to write the way I wanted to. I hope as always that you find some enjoyment in this latest chapter. Thank you to each of you who have stuck with me and to those who have taken the time to send me such wonderful reviews. I truly appreciate it!**

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Bobby continues his work in silence. This whole thing is making him feel sick to his stomach. The only sound that seems to fill the air is the occasional sucking noise that escapes from Dean's hand as each fragment of glass is extracted from it. Bobby tries to be stoic. Tries to be pissed off. But finds he can't free himself from a permanent state of deep sadness. It's like he can almost feel the heartbreak radiate outward from Dean's body. He wonders how he is going to snap the younger man out from underneath the shadow of the darkest of clouds, the one that seems to constantly hover right above him.

As much as it is going to hurt both of them, Bobby knows he has to make Dean face the fact that Sam is gone. And somehow he has to convince him that it was Sam's choice in the end. He made the sacrifice for his brother, hell, for every single person on the globe. He needs to force him to talk about it before it destroys him.

Dean is going to be in a world of physical pain when he comes to and the older man thinks that may just be his edge, his opportunity to get the boy to talk. He won't be in any condition to make a run for it and will pretty much be a captive audience. Bobby doesn't want to get upset with him, doesn't want to yell and scream and curse and throttle him, but, at the end of the day he knows what he saw. Dean, the man laid out on his couch, was determined to kill himself. And that is something that Bobby can not and will not allow. So, time to play the old cruel to be kind routine. The bad cop, badder cop routine.

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Okay. Something is definitely not right. Dean's first conscious thought is interrupted as a flurry of pulsating pain shoots through him. Through his head. Through his... arm? He fights the pull of sleep as it clouds over him again, he needs to know what the hell he has gotten himself into. He blinks slowly and needs to shut his eyes to fight a wave of dizziness as it attacks his senses. He feels weak. And sore. And confused. After another moment he tries his eyeballs again and although he can tell that it would be a bad idea to actually try and move he does manage to roll his eyes around his surroundings. Huh. Bobby's. But he doesn't get it. What the hell would he be doing at Bobby's and where is the old man? Oh.

"Morning Sunshine, decided to grace us with your presence have you?"

Dean can tell. He knows the older hunter well enough to instantly detect a less than friendly greeting and the sarcasm that is dripping off of his words sends his defenses into overdrive. Okay, what did Dean do to get this kind of welcome committee? He keeps a dazed look at the other man for a second or two and then scans his own body to try and figure out why he feels like something the cat, or some other mangy animal has dragged in. Hmm. That would explain it. His right hand is bandaged to the hilt and he can't even move a fingertip without being rewarded with a cascade of pain to rip through him. What the hell happened?

"Yeah, hurts like a bitch I bet. It took yours truly quite a while to patch up your sorry ass. Who knows if you'll ever be able to fire a damn gun again. Idiot. And c'mon, do you have any idea how much the mirror in my bathroom cost?"

What? Okay, Dean is totally lost. What the hell is wrong with Bobby, why the hell is he talking about his stupid bathroom... shit. Dean closes his eyes and seems to transport himself back into that damn bathroom. The mirror. Him. He could see his face stare out across from Hell itself and laugh at the state his true self was in. Because. Oh God. Sam. Sammy.

His breath picks up, his limbs start to shake and he can't displace the image in his mind. Over and over again he sees his brother dive into the pit while he just sat there and watched. He didn't even try to stop it. What kind of a piece of crap brother just lets someone he loves walk into Hell like he was going out for a burger? What kind of slimy bastard does that? Quicker and quicker his breaths become and he feels a surge of dizziness well up inside him again. No. Please God. Let this be some kind of bad dream.

"NO! SAMMY!" His eyes shoot open and he finds himself eye to eye with his friend. The look in Bobby's eyes, the shimmer of tears that reside within them, tells him what he doesn't want to know. It did happen and Sam is truly gone. And Dean is left to face this shitty world on his own. No, not going to happen. He pushes himself up to his elbows and starts to swing his legs to the floor when he is met by an incredibly firm hand on his chest.

"Oh no you don't boy! You are not going anywhere. You damn near bled to death just a few hours ago and the hell if I am going to let you just go off somewhere to kill yourself. No damn way! Just settle yourself back down or so help me Dean, I will clobber you so you can't move!"

"Bobby, just..."

"No! You are going to listen to me for a change damn it! And, let me start by saying this. And listen closely Dean. I know for a fact that you are not fine. I know for a fact that you were ready and willing to slice your own damn throat. You know how? Because I was there! So, I also know for a fact that you are going to sit there and talk to me. And cry. And scream. And let it out. I ain't gonna go through another episode of 'Dean Gone Wild' so save it! Your bullshit does not work on me!"

"Bobby, I... I can't."

Bobby's heart pulls at the weakness he hears in Dean's voice. Once strong and steady it now comes out soft and timid. Not the Dean that he knows. But Bobby can not show his sympathy. Not yet. His face remains stern. His words will be gentle but he will not give in, will not cave. Dean needs to talk and he is going to do just that.

"Listen son. You have been through a terrible loss. You are hurt and wounded and lost and hopeless. Hell, so am I. But you have got to talk about this Dean. You can not keep it inside. Not this time. You tried to kill yourself so any alone time that you were hoping to get is now officially off the table. Consider it null and void."

Dean is so NOT going to discuss this. What's the point? He doesn't want to be saved. He doesn't want to come to terms with it. He can't. It's an impossibility. So, Bobby and Cas and God and Lucifer himself can all kiss his ass and save their breath. Dean Winchester does not want to be saved and no one can force him. As much as Bobby thinks he'll be able to fix it, he can't. No one can. He can feel himself heat up, his anger and rage rising to a level he doesn't think he can control. Why can't people just leave him alone, to wallow, to deal with his misery the way he wants to, the way he deserves to. Are they never, ever going to understand that all of this is his fault? All of it!

"Dean? Calm yourself down, you are hyperventilating. Even the breaths out son, just focus on me. On my voice."

"What the hell for Bobby? What exactly can YOU do? So what, I screwed up, it's unfortunate I know but I guess I am still here. Can't even do that right can I? What a pathetic loser."

Bobby is shocked. This young man obviously doesn't give a shit anymore what spews out of his mouth. He pretty much just confirmed the fact that he is disappointed that he survived. That he wasn't able to finish himself off.

"Just what in the hell is there to talk about? Huh? Tell me that! What good will talking do! At the end of this pathetic therapy session you think you are going to perform on me just what difference is it going to make! Will all this talk bring Sam back! NO! It doesn't change the fact now does it!"

"Dean, you need to calm down. Please." Bobby can tell. Dean did not hear him. He is trapped in his own head and the hatred just keeps pouring out of him without pause.

"I KILLED HIM! JUST LIKE I KILLED DAD! JUST LIKE I KILLED EVERY SINGLE PERSON WHO HAS COME IN CONTACT WITH ME! IF YOU DON'T GET ME OUT OF YOUR LIFE BOBBY THEN YOU WILL DIE TOO! DON'T ANY OF YOU GET IT? I AM NOT WORTH IT!"

And with that Dean uses whatever strength he can muster to push Bobby away with his good arm and attempt to stand. The world spins and slants and he curses himself and his weak body as it betrays him. And, above all else, he hates the fact that once again Bobby is forced to come to the rescue as he saves him from crashing onto the floor in a heap. The older man turns him so they stand face to face. He looks down on the floor and just wants to get swallowed up by it.

"You are worth it Dean. And you will be saved. So just accept it. You are not alone, as much as you want to be. Whether you like it or not, I am not going to let you go son."

Dean feels a burn in his eyes. Shit. Tears. He can't cave into it. Bobby doesn't know what he is doing. He has been clouded by some sense of duty, of loyalty to John Winchester to look after his boys. He has done his job, has been the best of friends and a wonderful mentor to him and Sam but his duty ends now. "Yes, you are Bobby. Let me go."

Dean feels himself forced into the ultimate awkward man hug and tries with very little success to free himself.

Bobby doesn't say another word.

"You can't force me to stay here Bobby!"

Bobby just waits for the inevitable. For Dean's wall to crumble just enough. He keeps his grip around him and can hear the young man's voice start to crack under the weight of his pain.

"I...don't need you Bobby! I...I don't...need anyone..."

Bobby remains silent. And waits.

"Just.. please...let... me go..."

Bobby feels it in an instant. The actual moment that cracks in the virtually impenetrable wall appear. Dean's body sags against him and Bobby feels him shake beneath his grasp. But this time it is not from anger. Or hate. But of pure, unshielded grief.

Bobby remains silent. He keeps inside the words he so badly wants to say for fear that it will ruin this breakthrough moment.

That's it son. Let it out. Share some of your pain. I am here. You are not alone.

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**TBC.. Thanks for reading and I would love to hear what you think! :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hello and welcome back everyone to another chapter of this angsty tale. I know some of you were wanting some happy Dean moments but I will warn you ahead of reading - that is not happening yet - not in this chapter anyways. I know, it may be getting a bit old but I just can't get out of it yet. It is a guilty pleasure of mine. The story will eventually get moving, I promise. I hope that you will stick it out and come back for more.**

**Sorry for the delay in posting, it has been a busy couple of weeks and I was not able to get my thoughts together much until today. I would love to hear your thoughts about how this story is going and a big shout out to all of you who have sent me such kind and wonderful comments. It really helps motivate me to get moving on chapters. Yes, that was a little hint for reviews. But no pressure! :) I hope you enjoy!**

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Bobby isn't sure how long the two hunters have been standing there when he finally feels the shivers in Dean's body lessen and his breathing start to even out. He had been so focused on getting the younger man to talk that he almost forgot the physical strain his body is under. He decides that the most important thing right now is for Dean to get some rest.

"Dean?" The word comes out in a hoarse kind of whisper. Bobby isn't used to being silent when this Winchester boy is around. He has quite an ability to get the old man all worked up. The silence. It is eerie in a way. Another reminder of how things can change in an instant.

"Hmm?" Okay, Bobby knows that Dean has about had it and decides to get him back onto the couch for some sleep.

"I think you should lay down son. You are beat and I am sure you are sore and not feeling well so let's get you back on the couch. Okay?"

"'M good...B'by...just little tired...how bout coffee? don' wanna sleep...can't..."

Bobby sighs lightly and feels a bit torn. Dean definitely needs to get some sleep, his body can not withstand much more abuse. But maybe he can still get him to talk while he is a bit out of it and not firing on all cylinders.

"Coffee huh? I don't think that would do you any good. But, maybe some water and a couple pain meds instead?"

"Y'h...hurts a bit...ok..B'by..thks..." Bobby slowly eases the young man back onto the couch and maneuvers him until he is fairly stable against the arm of the sofa.

"Be right back."

* * *

Dean's head is pounding. His arm is throbbing. His brain is whirling. His heart is breaking. He is thankful that for the moment at least Bobby is not going to press the issue. He can't believe he let the older man hold him, that he let himself sob on his shoulder. He doesn't deserve to be consoled. Ever. He isn't going to make that same mistake again.

But, Dean also figures that the faster he acquiesces to what Bobby wants, the faster his friend will see he is in control. And then the quicker he can get out of this place and do what needs to be done. What has to be done. He can bullshit with the best of them so he'll let Bobby think that he has had a change of heart. That he knows he needs help. That he wants to be helped. That he won't be going anywhere. Yeah, it's a perfect plan. Then he can leave with Bobby feeling confident that he has fixed him. And then Dean will just disappear. Gone. For good. Forever. And at least the old guy can live out his life in peace.

"Dean, still awake?"

Weird. He hadn't even realized he had let his eyes drift closed. He needs to fight the urge to sleep. He can't. Not now. Not ever. Not when Sam is burning. And screaming. And...

"Dean?"

The involuntary flinch that ripples through him just pisses him off more. He can't show weakness, not if he is going to pull this off.

"Y'h man, still awake..."

Bobby eyes his charge wearily. Watches as he slowly opens his eyes and blinks away the fatigue and lack of focus that linger there. He knows the kid well enough, can almost hear the wheels turning round and round in his mind. In his not thinking clearly brain. The older hunter just needs to keep his wits about him and remember just who it is he is dealing with here. The master of the facade. He is probably already working out some way to duck and run out of this place. And, as Bobby thumbs the pills in his hand, he knows they will help. That Dean won't be able to go anywhere, or do anything, for a little while at least.

"Okay son. Here, take these and drink some water. You aren't looking so fantastic at the moment."

"What are..they? Don' need drugs B'by...just water thanks. And, by the way... I always look...fantastic"

Typical. The damn Winchester could have just had an appendage ripped off in some out of control hunt and he would still insist he doesn't need anything, that he isn't in pain. He sure can be an annoying son of a bitch.

"Dean. Listen. I know that your arm is on fire and by the way you keep scrunching up your face and wincing every time you move, hell, every time you breathe, you are definitely hurting. So, my couch, my rules. Take the damn pills and do it with a smile on your face. They are just aspirin anyways. They should at least take the edge off a bit. Work with me here okay?"

Bobby actually holds his breath for a second and watches Dean's face for any sign of being on to him. The younger man takes one more look at the hand and the pills they contain and nods. "Yeah, ok dude. Don't cry, or beg, that would just be embarrassing. Don't want to add to the humiliation of that awkward man hug you needed earlier. Geez, I thought you were gonna break out into a serenade for a minute there."

Oh brother. Just like Dean to try and deflect his pain into some warped sense of humour. To shift the focus from himself onto Bobby instead. "Yeah, right. Whatever. Just take the pills already. Make the old man happy okay? Wouldn't want to upset me and force me into another hug would ya?"

God no. Please. Dean isn't sure if he would be able to keep his composure in check again if he was given comfort. He can't deny that he aches inside for it. For human contact. For the warmth of someone. To know that someone cares. But he keeps in mind he does not deserve it. Dean figures a couple of aspirin may just do him a little good. Maybe clear his head a bit so he can work out his escape plan. He takes the pills and downs them both with a cool mouthful of water. He relishes the coolness as it goes down his throat. Before he knows it he had downed the entire bottle and only then takes in a breath of air. He looks to Bobby and gives him a patented Dean grin.

"Enough of a smile for ya old man?"

"Smart ass." Bobby feels a tinge of guilt cloud over him then. He tries to convince himself that he only has Dean's best interest in mind but can't help but scold himself for the flat out lie he just told the young man. Aspirin? Did he say aspirin? He meant Vicodin. Oh well, close enough. Bobby scoffs at himself. Close enough my ass. "I'll get another bottle of water for ya, in case you get thirsty again."

"Sure...okay...mom..." Dean watches the other man head back into the kitchen and can't help but notice him lean on the counter for a minute as if he needs to catch his breath. Damn it. He is hurting Bobby just by being there. Just by breathing. Just like he hurts everybody.

But of course, when the old dude turns around and heads back towards him, Dean can see nothing but sincerity on his face. Won't work on him though. Dean knows better. Dean wrote the book on outward appearances and can see through his a mile away.

"How you doing kid? You up to talking now?" Bobby wants to get some conversation in cuz when he looks at the clock he sees it has been about five minutes since Dean took those pills. So, in another fifteen or so he will feel no pain and won't be making much sense.

God. He just wishes the guy would shut up and leave him alone. Let him just fade away into the distance. But, he has to stick to his plan. Pull the wool over Bobby's eyes, wait until he is passed out from the exhaustion of looking after his sorry ass all night and then he can just slip out the back door. So, Dean takes in a deep breath and looks up to the man who sits beside him. Here goes nothing.

"Sure Bobby. We can talk. You want to start?"

That was too easy and Bobby doesn't like it one little bit. But, maybe the boy just needs to ease into it. He'll take the bait and see where it leads.

"Okay Dean. I'll go first but you are not getting out of this. Your turn is coming up."

"Yeah, I know Bobby. I know."

"Alright then. Well. I'm upset. I'm hurt. I'm pissed off. And I'm trying to come to terms with all the shit that's gone on this past year. And I am worried. About you Dean." Bobby waits for some kind of response and when he sees Dean just cast his gaze to the table he decides to continue on. He has started it. Better to finish it. "You are not dealing with this well. I expected you to be distraught and in bad shape. But... I never thought you... I never thought you would try to kill yourself, no matter how devastated. And that? Well, that is the worst part of this whole mess. You need help Dean. Please, let me help. Let Cas help. Let someone help." Nothing. No response. "Okay then. That's it for me. Your turn. Start talking."

Dean doesn't doubt it. Of course Bobby's upset. And hurt. And pissed off. He's upset with Dean. He's hurt because Dean couldn't save Sam. He probably hates him for that. He's pissed off because he knows just like Dean does that it's the older brother who should be the one burning. Not Sam. And all the shit that has happened? That's on him. On Dean and no one else. Dean is dealing with it. Well, not yet, but he will. Bobby doesn't need to worry, that should only be reserved for people who haven't screwed up their entire life. And all the lives of everyone else. Bobby is just confused, maybe unwilling to accept the truth. That Sam should have survived. And that Dean shouldn't have.

"Dean?"

The concern in Bobby's voice ignites the fire in his belly again. The hatred. It's all consuming. He can't really think about anything else. He wants to stick to his plan but the rage is bubbling within him and as hard as he tries to control it the words form on his tongue and he knows he can't keep them in. After all, sarcasm always works wonders in these kinds of situations right? And Dean, well, he is a certified pro.

"Well Bobby, sounds to me like you have got a lot of issues that you may need some help with. If you want, we can trade places and you can lay your old bones on this couch and I can have a shot at the role of therapist. What do ya say? Do you need to let it all out? Need to vent some of your pain?"

Bobby is starting to get a really bad feeling about this. "Dean, please listen to me son, I..."

"Hey man, you wanted me to talk right? So, let me talk!" Dean wants to stop. Doesn't want to blow his cover but his anger is surging out of control from the inside out. "Really Bobby, enlighten me, what have you personally done wrong in this entire messed up shit storm? Huh? Nothing! Maybe you would like to take out some of your anger out on someone? Hey, you know what? I know... you could take it out on me! C'mon Bobby, I KNOW you want to! Why can't you just admit it? You blame me! Hell, I blame myself and I should! So, if you would like to give me a good beating I am all for it. It may just make you feel better! And hey, we could invite everyone else. Oh. I guess we can't. Because they are ALL DEAD!"

Dean has gone from zero to sixty in a nanosecond. Again. And it makes Bobby's skin crawl. He looks to the clock and begs it to hurry up. For the pills to take effect. Now. The more he hears the words. The more he feels the anger and hate ooze out of this young man, the more convinced he is that he is about to implode. And it's gonna be messy. He's gotta try something because Dean is beyond agitated and pissed off and looks like he's ready to burst.

"Dean. Can you look at me? Son, please look at me." Bobby waits. And slowly he sees a pair of unfocused eyes roll towards him. "Listen. I don't hate you. I care about you as if you were my own son. You can not keep going like this. I don't want to beat the crap out of you. And neither does Cas. And all those people who have died? You were not the cause Dean. How could you be? It was the evil Dean. All that damn evil that was crawling around all over the place. That caused it. Not you. It was never you. Do you understand?"

Dean needs to stop looking at him. If he doesn't he may just cave in to those eyes. They are almost as believable as... as Sam's. But, it's all bullshit. How can Bobby believe that Dean isn't to blame? He is isn't he? He broke that first seal and the whole world went to shit after that. First seal. That started it all. And it just led to another and another. Until Lucifer arrived. Because of him. There is no changing that fact. He needs to do something. He needs to hurt. To be so blinded by physical pain that the emotional stuff doesn't get in. He can't let it. He refuses.

Bobby sees it a split moment too late to stop it. Dean. He lifts his injured arm up, accentuated by a grunt of pain and smashes it into the top of the coffee table.

"DEAN! My God! Are you out of your damn mind you idjit!" Bobby watches, dumbfounded and in morbid fascination. This. What he is witnessing is pure insanity. Yes, Sam's death was brutal but watching his older brother literally self destruct right in front of him is truly beyond comprehension. Bobby can hear the moans of pain escape the other man's mouth and can literally see the sweat start to form on his face, right in front of his eyes. And, for cripes sake, he can see fresh blood on his bandage. Bobby stares on in disbelief. Dean seems to be enthralled by the sight of blood on the white fabric. He actually watches the young man touch the crimson patch and rub it between his fingers. It is just so twisted, in every way. It's like he is enjoying the way it feels.

Just when he thought this unbelievable scene could not get anymore bizarre or creepy, the most horrific part is what meets Bobby's eyes next. Dean turns his head slowly to face him. And the smile that is plastered on his pale, sweat covered face makes the older man shiver in reflex.

"It's all...good B'by... 'm good... 'm fine..." Dean loves it. The pain. He can focus on it and nothing else.

But, there is something else starting to invade his mind. His senses. He can't place the reason for it. He feels off. Funny. Like he's starting to drift. To float.

That's it. It is decided. Once those pills kick in and Dean is out for the count Bobby is going to do it. The next time Dean wakes up it's going to be in the panic room. Because Bobby doesn't know what else to do. Because he doesn't know what Dean is truly capable of. Because he can go from almost breaking into tears to... well, to this. Because he needs some time to figure out his next move.

Bobby keeps an eye on Dean and almost smiles when he can tell that he is starting to fade.

"Dean? You feeling alright?"

Something is not right. Bobby. He sounds kind of far away but Dean knows he is right beside him. The pain he was feeling, the welcome pain, is starting to wane. He can't seem to focus and he feels really, really tired. He thinks it over and can't seem to figure it out. He can't concentrate on any one thought. It's like he's been...drugged. Son of a bitch. Aspirin?

He feels a pair on strong hands on him. "Dean? You okay? You still with me?" Can't focus. Can't... fight. Shit. Bobby. Drugged.

"Bby? can't...focus...wh't you gimme...drug...'m fine...don' need 'em..." His mind is foggy. His eyes are getting heavy and he can't fight it. "why..."

"Just let yourself go Dean. Just relax. Don't fight it. You can't stay awake forever, you can't last if you don't rest."

"nonono... can't... s'my... he's burnin, nver rest...not fair... should b m..mmme... stay awake... p..please...b'by... no slee...p"

Bobby's heart aches. Again. So many times in such a short period of time. It is almost too painful for the older man to bear witness to. To see a young man, in what should be the best years of his life, break apart one piece at a time. Because of demons? Of evil? And to hear the words from his mouth drone over and over again. How it should be him. How he should of been sacrificed instead of Sam. Because he is the one who deserves to die. Bobby sighs deeply and can see Dean looking at him through hooded and dazed eyes. And there is hate in them too.

"plse b'by... don' make me sleep... get me...coffee...somethin'... m srry... didn' mean what said... don' hate me..."

Bobby leans over then and places a hand on each side of his face. He looks into those glassy eyes of his and hopes he will understand the words. "Dean, I don't hate you, I never could. No matter what. But it is time for you to rest son. To start the long road to recovery. I will be here each and every step of the way. Because you do mean that much to me. You always have and you always will. Rest now. Just rest."

Dean starts to lean into the hands on his face more and more as he can't help but subconsciously reach out for some kind of comfort. Of solace. He can feel himself start to surrender to the bliss. To the drug induced peace. He feels calm. At ease. He knows he shouldn't but he can't help it.

Damn it, he'll have to come up with a better plan. But not right now. He can't think. Can't think. The plan, it will have to wait. Until tomorrow.

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**TBC.. Thanks as always for stopping by and taking a look... :)**


	14. Chapter 14

_**Yes, I know, it HAS been a while ;) I seem to be back in touch with a few of my older stories which have unfortunately been in limbo for a month or two. I seem to have had a rush of inspiration for some of them so here I am! I hope that you will enjoy this chapter, I would love to hear what you think. Thanks to those who have decided to stick around, I really hope to update much sooner. Thanks again! :)**_

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Bobby can see the struggle on Dean's face. The fight that rages within. Between the want that he has, the need to be comforted during the worst thing imaginable and the guilt. The guilt that he shouldn't be, that he has no right to be comforted as he is the cause of it all.

The older man knows it won't be long. He can feel the ever increasing pressure on his hands as Dean slowly sags deeper and deeper into his palms. As Dean begin to lose the battle to stay awake. Those glassy eyes are stll open and Bobby feels them stare right through him without actually seeing. They are dull. And empty. The windows to Dean's soul are broken.

As the seconds tick by, the lids of those green orbs get heavier and heavier, and Bobby just keeps his gazed fixed on them. In hopes Dean will know without words that he is not alone. That Bobby is there. And he keeps their hold until Dean succumbs and the lids finally flutter closed. The battle is lost.

Dean is out. And Bobby is relieved. Hell, if he was twenty years younger he might be tempted to do a damn cartwheel.

Bobby carefully places Dean's now pliant form back onto the couch and stands up to gaze on the wounded man once more. He is in some kind of constant loop. He always seems to be right back where he started, no closer to getting Dean to open up to him than before. So, he just stands there, immobile, and wonders what the hell he is supposed to do now. With a shake of his head he decides standing there won't help him suddenly pull the solution out of his ass. He needs some air. Some space. A moment to collect his own thoughts.

He turns away from the sight of Dean on the couch and marches across the house dead set on leaving the somber scene in the dust for a couple minutes. He is starting to suffocate in the vacuum of despair that has enveloped his home. But, even though he travels with haste, that doesn't mean he can't grab the bottle of whiskey off the counter as he whizzes by. It doesn't mean he can't have the lid screwed off by the time he reaches the door. And it sure the hell doesn't stop him from taking a swig as soon as his feet hit the concrete of his front step.

So he stands there, bottle in hand and looks out among the beat up, disassembled cars that litter his yard. If only Dean could be fixed like one of these damn pieces of metal. Put back together piece by piece. If only Dean could come back enough to vent a little of his pain by working on the Impala. Or any one of these other piece of shit vehicles. But inside Bobby knows this is so much worse than before. Sure, losing John was a blow. A big one. And Bobby is sure those wounds are still open and very painful. But losing your brother too? And not by a normal every day kind of death? Well, Bobby wonders. Maybe there really is no coming back from that. The two most important people in this young man's life. Gone. And both sent into the depths of Hell. Bobby shivers at that although the air outside is warm.

He isn't sure what to do. He can't just stand there like a statue so he rushes off the step and just starts walking. Not really looking at anything. Not really doing anything. Not really going anywhere. He knew he just needed to get out. To let off some steam. He looks back at his home. The house that has served him so well now seems to have a black cloud stationed right on top of it. Never moving. Always present. Not letting even one ray of sunshine peek through to shower him. Or Dean.

This is his chance. He curses out to the open air. Shouts out to the heavens and to Hell itself. Screams until his throat is raw. Because sometimes, even Bobby Singer needs to lose control.

Bobby isn't sure how long he has been out there but by the amount of liquid left in the bottle he figures it's been a while. He sighs and rubs a hand across his face. He still has another job to do before he can sit down. After all, Dean ain't gonna magically appear in the panic room all by himself. With that thought, Bobby slowly makes his way to his front door before pausing as his hand touches the knob. He shuts his eyes briefly, tugs the door open and steels himself to get on with the next chapter of this incredibly depressing and painful novel.

* * *

Bobby stands there in amazement. Huh. He doesn't really remember how the hell he accomplished this feat. He stares down at Dean who now lays prone on the cot in the panic room and marvels at the sight. He figures a douse of alcohol and dash of adrenaline has led them here. Sometimes the old man surprises even himself. He got Dean here. Away from the door. From the outside. From his escape. Kudos for Bobby.

Fifteen minutes later he has finished up yet another patch job on that damn hand of Dean's and backs away from the cot. From Dean's confinement. He is going to have one supercharged pissed off idjit to deal with when those drugs wear off and he ain't looking forward to that. Bobby takes a seat in the chair across the room, nestled against the wall, and shuts his eyes. And it feels good. Great even. The exhaustion hits him hard then and even though he knows he should try and keep alert for Dean's awakening he just can't do it. He needs rest. He needs to be bright eyed and bushy tailed if he's gonna have the strength to deal with the aftermath. Because when Dean is aware of where he is he will undoubtedly feel, in his eyes anyway, like a captive. And dealing with that will take all kinds of patience and stamina from the older man.

Bobby feels the pull of sleep and doesn't fight it. He instead covers his eyes with his ball cap and folds his arms across his chest.

* * *

He can hear something. It sounds like the wind that starts to blow its way through the trees before a storm hits. But he doesn't feel like he's outside. He can't feel air rush across him. But whatever it is sounds low and gentle. Almost soothing.

"Dean?" He can hear the voice, that oh so familiar voice, and it seems to ride on the wind. It sounds distant. He just. He can't place it. He feels heavy and lethargic and so damn tired.

"Dean?" Huh. Maybe he is imagining things. He feels like he could sleep for a damn week. But his instincts tell him something is wrong. He needs to stay alert. Even if he can't quite yet make his damn eyes open he needs to listen. Closely. Did he hear his name or not? He just isn't sure.

He senses the storm start to pick up. The wind blows louder now and a shiver ripples through him. He knows something is coming but his muddled mind doesn't no what. And that thought puts him on edge.

"How could you do it Dean?"

He flinches at that. The voice is closer now. If feels like it is all around him, echoing through his foggy brain.

"How Dean? Why?"

Wait. The voice. Sam. Sammy. He sounds...sad. And there is something else evident in his voice. Pain. Dean works to open his eyes but the damn things refuse to budge. He needs to look. To see if Sam is in trouble. To find out what he is talking about.

"S'my? Okay?"

The wind begins to howl. The sound hurts his ears and he has the urge to cover them. The storm is getting closer.

"Huh. That's rich. I am definitely not okay. And it's your fault Dean. ALL YOU FAULT!"

Sam's voice screams in his ear. Not gentle. Not kind. This voice is full of anger and rage. Dean's confusion rolls around in his head. His fault? What?

"S'm? What? What's wrong? I...what?"

"YOU DID THIS TO ME!"

Dean shrinks into himself at those venom coated words. His head feels like it is going to burst. The wind. The storm. Sam. The sound. It is deafening. Raging. It threatens to tear him apart and he presses his hands to his ears in an attempt to make it stop. But it does no good. It is like the noise is trapped inside his own head.

"Open your eyes Dean. Look at me. Look at what you have done."

The want he had felt to open his eyes and make sure his brother is okay has been erased. All he can feel now is foreboding and fear. The wind. It howls. It swirls. It screams. It stabs into his head and body. There is something so wrong about it. This isn't normal and this is not his Sam. Something bad is about to happen. He can feel it in the pit of his stomach. And Dean is terrified to find out what.

The sound of Sam's bitter and hateful voice somehow drowns out the crescendo of noise in his brain.

"Don't you want to look at your handiwork Dean? To see what you have done? You really are pathetic. You haven't figured it out. Listen Dean. To the sound. Really listen."

Sam's voice fades away, seemingly absorbed into the noise that surrounds them.

The sound is all around him. It invades his mind, his brain, his entire being. It reverberates through his bones and muscles and flesh. He concentrates on it. On the wind. No. Wait. He feels panic start to bubble up as he strains to decipher a single sound. A single line within a deafening chorus, to pinpoint one sound of many. He swallows in reflex as he zones in. His breath hitces at the realization and he feels a single tear track down his face. No.

"That's it. Good boy. With the program yet?"

No. Please. He feels like he has been punched in the gut. Repeatedly. It isn't wind that he hears. His concentration slacks because he knows...he can't.. it's...oh God...voices. Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands. Crying out in a never ending chorus of pain and despair. The voices scream out all at once. They pierce his brain. Rattle his nerves and his sanity. Those...it's...he knows the sound. He knows all too well. He gulps in a fraction of air as he hones in again on one voice. It is crystal clear.

This one sound. This one voice. Is a soul.

All the sounds. All the voices. They are all souls.

And Sam. His brother. He is right there in the thick of them. Drowned out in wave after crushing wave. His soul. Dean can hear it. And it screams like all the others.

Because Sam is there. In Hell.

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**TBC.. Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to drop me a line and tell me what you think, it would make my day! :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello and welcome to the next chapter. Thank you sooo much to all of you out there who are following along and to those who are taking the time to review, it really does feel good when those alerts come in! I hope as always that you will enjoy this chapter, feel free to send me your thoughts! :)**

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"No." That sound. It pierces through him. "Sam. No." Dean shakes his head to dislodge his focus from Sam's voice; from his brother's scream; to willingly open himself back up to the cacophony of endless souls. It's like a train bearing through his head, but he will take that relentless sound over the single solitary one. Of Sam.

"Nice try but you can't tune me out Dean. Not me. I can zero in on you and you can't ignore or wash over my voice. Now, open your eyes Dean. Look at what you have done. To me. To the brother you swore to protect; to save; to look after. Open. Your. Eyes."

"No Sam. I… I can't. Please!"

"You OWE ME DEAN! Now LOOK!"

He shakes involuntarily from the ferocity of those words. He can hear Sam's voice but the venom of the words just seems so out of place. The words. They are spit out with such loathing and utter contempt that Dean opens his eyes out of reflex; out of the desire to prove to himself that they couldn't have come from Sam. As he opens his eyes he instantly wishes he hadn't.

The scene is so vulgar and macabre that he swears he is back there. Back in Hell. The walls; the floor; the ceiling. They are moving; they are in constant motion. Souls. So many souls. They tumble over each other; they scurry around; they try endlessly to find a way out of the pit, just to find there is none. Because there is no escape. No salvation. Nothing but eternal damnation.

Dean's skin crawls and his stomach creeps up to take root in his throat. Because there, in the centre of it all, standing in the middle of all the chaos and madness is his brother. Is Sam. And the intensity of the gaze he has unleashed upon him makes the older brother turn away in shock and disbelief at the surreal scene before him. This can't be. Please. This cannot be what has become of his gentle and caring brother.

"No, no, no Dean. Don't be shy. Look at me."

He can't stop it. The tears begin their downward descent from Dean's eyes as he is forced to accept what his senses tell him; forced to face the fate Sam condemned himself to when he plunged into the darkness of the pit. All because Dean broke the first seal. In Hell itself. He lifts his eyes and shudders when he witnesses his baby brother ignite into flame. Sam doesn't scream and doesn't flinch. His flesh doesn't melt away and his hair doesn't burn. Dean stares into the blackness of his brother's eyes and cringes at the realization. Sam is no longer human. The sinister smile that spreads across his once peaceful and loving face makes Dean sick to his stomach. Not this. Not him. Not Sammy.

"Come Dean. Burn with me. Burn. With. ME!"

Before Dean can react or say a word his brother touches the mattress on which he lays and it is suddenly engulfed in flame. In Hell fire. He stares in shock as the writhing souls converge on him from all directions. He tries to shuffle backwards but there is nowhere to go. Dead, burning hands reach out to him from every angle. They grasp and claw and pull at him. He struggles and strains to get away but he is pinned onto the burning cot, nails digging into his flesh. He can feel the fire on his skin; can smell the rotten stench of death. But, above all else, despite the absolute horror he finds himself in, the worst of all is the unflinching gaze and unwavering sneer that remain firmly affixed onto Sam's face. And now all he can hear rattle around in his ears is the nearly inhuman cackle of his brother. Of Sam. And now, Dean can't breathe. He is suffocating from the smoke; from the fire; from the guilt and terror of it.

"You belong right here with me Dean. You know it."

Sam inches closer to him and grabs his wounded wrist. "Aww, that's quite a nasty cut Dean. Too bad you couldn't finish the job. You never could follow through could you?"

"I'm… sorry Sam. I'm so..sssorry…"

Dean looks down in shame and disgust. And then the sounds stop. All of them. The burn on his skin and the pain of nails trying to cut through his flesh are gone. An eerie quiet replaces the screams and screeches of the damned and Dean swears he can hear his own heartbeat.

"Dean?"

The voice is gentle and soft; is sweet and full of concern.

"Listen Dean. Please. I'm sorry, I… I can't… I am starting to lose myself. I can feeI the darkness starting to consume me. I… I can't survive here without you. You know what you have to do right? You have to finish the job and come to me. The Winchester sons together again. That's what you want. That's what I want. I need you Dean. Please, I..I need you. Don't let me down. Not this time. Don't let me suffer here for eternity alone. Please. You need to come and protect me. You need to save me."

Dean's head lifts up and he looks into the eyes; the normal, human eyes of his brother. The souls are gone; the fire is gone; Hell is gone. The only sight in front of him now is Sam. His Sammy. And Sam needs him. Dean decides then and there that he needs to save him; needs to be there to protect him from the horrors of Hell.

"I will wait for you Dean. We can be together again. Come to me."

Dean raises a shaking hand to touch his brother's arm and, as he looks upon him, he feels the warmth of love flow through him as Sam flashes him a true smile.

"Okay Sam. You know I will. I will come. Soon. Just hang on."

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Bobby jolts awake and tries to work his way through the cobwebs in his skull as to why he fell asleep on a damn chair. He hears whispering from across the room and recognizes the voice as Dean's. That is all it takes for him to be unceremoniously thrust back into reality. He lifts the ball cap away from his face and eyes Dean on the cot. Bobby instantly knows he ain't liking what his eyes take in. Dean is looking up and Bobby can see the tracks of tears shimmer on his face. He has his arm out in front of him, in midair, as if he is holding on to something, only there is nothing there. When Bobby sees a ghost of a smile flutter across his face he lifts himself up from the chair and slowly makes his way over to the young man.

Dean doesn't seem to have noticed his approach as his eyes and gaze stay rooted onto the thin air in front of him. Bobby's heart skips a beat, or several, as he starts to make out the words that are spilling out of Dean's mouth.

"Okay Sammy. Okay, I will see you soon. I'm sorry but just hang on, I am coming. I will save you."

Dean whimpers softly as Sam stands up and places himself once again in the centre of the room. "Don't go Sammy. Please…don't go…"

"Hurry Dean. Hurry. Do whatever you have to do to convince Bobby to let you out of this damn room. "

And with those final words Dean watches his brother burst into flame once again; watches his brother's features be overshadowed by the darkness that consumes him from the pit; watches as the souls rise up once again and hears them begin their never ending chorus of pain anew.

"No! SAMMY! NOOOOOOO! COME BACK! PLEEEASE!"

Shit. Bobby knows Dean is in the throes of a vivid and realistic nightmare and it ain't gonna help him any if he thinks he is actually talking to his brother. Although he is unsure if it's the wisest move, Bobby moves in and steps into the same spot that Dean is currently focused on. But Dean looks right through him.

Dean rises up from the cot and stumbles forward in an effort to try and reach his brother. But with each step he takes, the further away Sam gets; the farther he recedes into the darkness. Dean reaches out in one last ditch effort to hold onto his brother.

"SAAAAAM! SAAAAAM!"

And then he is gone. Sam disappears in a flash of fire and Dean is alone.

"DEAN!" Bobby grabs hold of the younger man's shoulders and squeezes.

Blink.

"Dean, it's Bobby, can you hear me? Are you with me son?"

Blink. Slowly the older hunter can see the glassy eyes of the man before him begin to clear and focus on him instead of whatever scene his imagination had just put him through.

"Where's Sam Bobby? He was here, did you see him? You must have seen him, he was right here! He was… burning Bobby. Hell fire. He was burning Bobby. Burning. Sam…burning. And souls. God Bobby, so many souls. Screaming and holding me down and crawling and….so loud…so loud. And Sam…he was screaming. He…he isn't human anymore…Hell is destroying him. He's…he's lost without me. Alone."

Bobby searches his mind for words to try and get the young man before him back from the brink. He knows that Dean believes that Sam appeared to him, from Hell, and now it is up to the older man to try and convince him that it was all in his head. And there is no way that Dean Winchester is gonna just accept it. Bobby sighs.

"Dean, please try and listen to me. Sam was not here. Whatever you saw, it wasn't real. You are exhausted and in pain and you are imagining things. Sam was not here. Dean, Sam was not here."

"No, you're wrong Bobby. He came, he… he blames me. He needs me."

"No son, I'm sorry but it wasn't real. It's just you and I here, it's only been you and I. But, I know that Sam…that he.. he doesn't blame you, no one does, it was not your fault Dean. You need to accept that. Stop punishing yourself for something that you couldn't prevent. Please."

Dean knows Bobby doesn't believe him but Sam was there, he knows it. And no one, not even Bobby is going to keep him from seeing his brother again. Sam needs him and damn it, he is going to find a way to join him; to find a way around Bobby's set of eagle eyes just long enough. Sam's words echo around in his head. _'Do whatever you have to do to convince Bobby to let you out of this damn room.'_

Yeah. He can do that. He can get out of the… the panic room? He doesn't remember coming here. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters but getting back to Sam. He needs to get out of here. He has to. It's the only way to see his brother again. Time for Dean to finally succumb to what Bobby wants; to show the emotions that the older man wants to see.

Bobby is taken by surprise as Dean seems to collapse from the weight of all he has endured and embrace him with all of his remaining strength. Shock and disbelief quickly give way to understanding and comfort. He can hear Dean whimper on his shoulder; can hear deep sobs escape from the young man's throat and start to bellow out into the air. Dean grips him in such a vice hold that Bobby can hardly take in a breath.

"Bobby? He's gone, isn't he? He is really gone and I…. I don't know how to go on. I don't know what I am supposed to do next. I.. he just seemed so real He talked to me. He…he begged me to help him. To save him. What am I supposed to do?"

For a moment the gruff older hunter is at a loss for words. This is the breakthrough he has been hoping for; the moment when Dean finally reaches out to him and starts to accept that his brother is truly gone, and now that it has arrived Bobby isn't sure what to do next either. But, as painful as it is, this is the first step towards Dean coming to terms with living his life without his baby brother. And that first step is a doozy.

"You take things one day at a time son. And you are not alone, I will be here to help every step of the way. You will find a way to survive Dean, for yourself, for me, and for your brother because that's what he wanted for you Dean. To live your life and try the best you can to be happy."

Dean pulls away slowly from the older man and looks to him with tear soaked eyes. "I need help Bobby. I'm falling apart bit by bit. I… I don't know what to do next."

"You need to get your rest Dean, you need to get your strength back. You look dead on your feet and we can't fix this overnight. So, what do you say we get you back to the bed over there so you can get some rest okay?"

With that, Bobby turns the young hunter around but can feel tension and stress bubble up and strain the muscles in his entire frame. Bobby keeps his hand on Dean's back and can feel his breaths increase and worries again that he is about to have some sort of attack. But, this time, instead of words spit out in anger and defiance, the voice that Bobby hears sounds like one of a lost child.

"No, I can't… not in here. I can still see him Bobby. He is burning. He is tied up on that damn cot and screaming for me. Please, Bobby, I can't… I can't stay in here. Memories and visions of him are everywhere. I can't stay in here. Can we…can we go back upstairs? Please Bobby? Please?"

Bobby's heart breaks. Again. He has never heard this boy, this man who he considers as close to a son as he will ever get, sound so vulnerable and terrified. Dean really cannot face this room. And Bobby can't think of any reason why he can't at least do one thing to help him. This one small thing.

Dean faces the cot and waits. He can tell that Bobby is going to cave into him, he won't be able to resist the request of someone in so much pain. Bobby will give in. And then Dean will make good on his promise to his brother.

"Okay son, the couch upstairs is not pretty but it will do the job just fine. Let's get you there but you have to promise me that you will rest. Can you promise me that Dean?"

His mouth curves up into a smile. Yes. He is so close now.

"Yeah Bobby, I promise. Sounds good. Thank you. I just..anywhere but here."

The two men walk to the door and Bobby keeps hold of the now faltering hunter each step of the way. Dean clenches his fist and calms his breath as he prepares for the door to be opened. For his chance. He can feel Bobby's gentle touch on his back and smiles as he is slowly led through the threshold.

It happens in an instant. Just as Bobby ushers the young man outside of the room, Dean spins around so fast that it almost causes the older of the two men to stumble. He catches his footing just in time to prevent a fall but can't do anything to prevent Dean as he shoves both of his arms into his chest and pushes him back through the open door.

He hears Dean hiss and moan as the pain radiates from his wounded hand but before Bobby has a chance to realize just what in the hell is going on he sees and hears the door slam. And lock. With him inside. Bobby looks at Dean through the slit in the door. The smile he sees on the face that peers through the small opening scares him. That is not Dean. Not anymore.

"Dean, open the damn door! DEAN! Please, don't do this. You need help. Sam is gone and you have got to face it son. You are not well and you are gonna do something that you will regret. Please!"

No reaction. Just that same stupid smile plastered on his face.

"Goodbye Bobby."

Bobby screams and screams at Dean's receding back as panic flows unabated through his veins. He cannot lose him, not now, not after everything that has happened. He screams until his voice is raw.

His own tears stream endlessly down his face as he hears footsteps creak through the floorboards; as Dean prepares to do the unthinkable.

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**TBC.. Thanks for stopping by... Until next time. :)**


	16. Chapter 16

**Hello and welcome back. I hope you will enjoy this latest chapter. Thanks for reading and as always, thanks to those who have sent along reviews, it really does make a difference! This chapter is all about Dean and his mission to get to his brother. I would absolutely LOVE to hear what you think of this installment. Thanks again... On with the story... :)**

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Determination and purpose. Those are the things that Dean takes with him as he stumbles up the stairs; as he leaves his friend and mentor behind in the panic room; as he heads away from the sound of Bobby screaming his name. Those are the things that help subdue the throb in his arm; in his head; in his heart. Those are the things that force him to ignore the dizziness that he feels; the urge to sit down; the quiet voice in his head that is trying to tell him to listen to Bobby. Bobby. He will come to understand. He will realize that Dean is doing this as much for the older man as he is for himself; as he is for Sam.

Dean seems to wander aimlessly around the main floor of Bobby's place; his eyes scan every corner of every room. He stares into the library and pauses. Books upon books, stacks upon stacks rise up from the floor; from every chair and table. He fixates on them. Those books. The ones that, in the end, proved useless to save his brother. He remembers all the times the three men found themselves seemingly sequestered in this small place, dwarfed by the sheer number of books housed within, and all over, the tiny room. The times they had to scour volume after volume to find a way; one little clue; one little, obscure reference that would give them the answer on how to stop one evil son of a bitch or another. And they did, time and time again. They followed in their father's footsteps. They hunted things. They saved people.

But, when it came to the ultimate showdown of good against evil; when it came to the finale of their own battle against Hell, the tried and true Winchester curse prevailed. Time and time again those damn books yielded one incantation or another; or ritual; or spell to cast to save someone's life yet, when it came to saving one of them, they proved to be useless and not worth the tattered pages they were written on. Because the one thing those damned books couldn't supply was even one small hint towards something, anything, that could defeat Lucifer without having to sacrifice themselves. Without having to sacrifice Sam.

He can see Sam right now, he can actually see him. He knows it is just a memory transforming itself in his mind but he looks so real. There he is in all his geek-boy glory. Nose first into one of those books doing research; his brow crinkled as he searches; and Dean knows he actually enjoys it. Man, you can take the boy out of college but never the college out of the boy. Dean chuckles grimly at the memory and feels his heart pang again with unbridled loss.

And then his vision; the one he knows can't possibly be real; the one he knows his own brain conjured up, raises its head from the book and stares straight at him. Sam. He is looking right into him. The book he holds bursts into flames and droplets of blood trickle outward from Sam's mouth. "Hurry Dean. Please. Hurry." Dean shakes his head and the image dissolves into dust, the remnants only evident as the particles drift past the lamp on the table. Damn mind, it is starting to play tricks on him.

He leaves the confines of the library and his horrific vision of Sam, and looks next into the kitchen. He is assaulted with memories as they flood into him once more. Of the two of them sharing some laughs and a few beers after another successful hunt; of seeing the eyeroll Sam would send his way upon his realization that his older brother had snatched the last coffee out of the pot without bothering to make more; of all the times they would banter about everything and anything after finishing a hunt by the skin of their teeth, just to enjoy the fact they made it out alive and together. A small smile floats across his face at all the memories; at all the good times this old house can stir within him. Of times when his heart was whole. When his life meant something.

Dean looks through the window, out into the car graveyard that litters Bobby's property. His mind takes him to a vision of himself, under the Impala, trying desperately to work out his anger and grief over the loss of his father into the body of his 1967 mint condition Impala. And then there's Sam. Always coming to check on him. Always wanting to make sure he was okay. Always wanting him to talk about his feelings. And Dean. Always pushing him away. Always insisting he was fine. Always deflecting his own issues and making them Sam's. Always treating his younger brother like he didn't deserve to know Dean on that level. Idiot.

He turns sadly away from the flashback, head hanging low at the realization of all the opportunities he had let pass by because of his stubborn streak; because he had to be tough and strong; of all the moments he and his brother missed out on, because of him. Always because of him.

Dean halts in his tracks, eyes still downcast, when a set of legs comes into view, directly in his path. It couldn't be Bobby, he can still hear the faint echoes of his fists on the door of the room he is locked in. It couldn't be Castiel, he doesn't remember him ever wearing anything but that damn trenchcoat. It couldn't be Sam. He can't be here. He's in Hell. He's...He lifts his head in slow motion, breath increasing as he does, not really sure what he will find. Sam. He's there. Again. Right in front of him. And this time, he looks pissed.

"You're wasting time Dean. What is wrong with you? Don't you care that I am burning up, that piece after piece of my flesh is sizzling and falling away from my bones to be sent into the endless pit? And all the while you are just content to wander through an episode of 'This Is Your Life?'"

Dean gulps. Hard. He backs up from this vision, this version of his brother and covers his eyes. When he opens them again Sam is gone. He is once again alone in the room. Sam's right. Real or not, product of his imagination or not, he is still right. Enough already Dean. Memories don't mean shit. Not now. He shakes his head to loosen the grip they have on him and he is thrust once more into the present. To the knowledge of where Sam is. The knowledge that it is Dean's fault he is there. The fact that Sam is begging for him to step up and help him. The past is just that and it doesn't matter. Sam is waiting in Hell for him and he ain't about to let him down, not this time.

He can still hear Bobby. He wishes he would just stop already. But, the older hunter is still at it; he is still yelling out his name although Dean can tell that his voice seems to be changing. It is becoming more urgent; more desperate. He contemplates going to check on him; to try and make him understand that this is something he has to do. But he knows Bobby will just try and talk him out of it and that is a chance Dean can't take, not when he is so close. Time to book it and leave Bobby in peace.

Dean leaves his trip down memory lane and begins to scan the main level for the supplies he will need. He doesn't need much. He grabs two bottles of whiskey from the older man's stash and pauses. He doesn't need anything else, his car will have the rest. Shit. He growls in annoyance and frustration when he realizes the Impala is still at the scene; in that damn field. He can't finish this, not without the car. Not without the place that brought the brothers to each other in a way no other place could. The Impala. The symbol of their reconnection with each other; of their life on the road together; of all they shared; of all they survived; of all they have lost. He needs to end it. There.

He scoops up the keys to Bobby's truck and to the Impala off the kitchen table and heads towards the door. Towards the end. Towards the destiny that he himself has decided. Not the angels. Not the Devil. Dean Winchester will be the master of his own fate in the end; those dicks can kiss his ass, he is going out Winchester style all the way. Of free will. Of free mind. He smiles at that. After everything they did; everything they tried; those bastards still had their butts kicked by a damn human.

He pauses as his hand grasps the handle to the door. He hears Bobby. He still pounds on the door. He still screams out his name. Dean's heart feels heavy at how sad the other man sounds but it will be over soon, and Bobby can start fresh. Without him there to screw up his life. Been there and done that. Time to let Bobby enjoy a Dean free existence for once.

Bobby will understand. He knows deep inside this is the only way for the Winchester story to end. Both brothers, together again, side by side against the armies of Hell. With one last whispered goodbye to the man he considers to be his second father, Dean steps out into the crisp night air. In moments he is leaving a trail of dust and debris behind him as the truck speeds out of the yard and towards the last place Dean saw his brother alive. Where his brother sacrificed himself. Where he was forced to, because of Dean.

* * *

He loads the cassette and blares the music. His dad's music. His music. It's so loud it seems to reverberate through his whole body. He looks to the passenger seat and sees his brother there. Well, he remembers him there. Remembers the smart ass comments about his choice in music. The way he moaned and groaned about it, but in the end accepted it just the same. Sammy. So innocent and naïve back then. If only he could have stayed that way. If only Dean could have protected him from it all. With a deep sigh, Dean turns the music off, rips it out of the player and as he heads out of the Impala towards the trunk, chucks the cassette into the night.

His eyes flicker across the arsenal within the walls of the trunk. Okay, what to choose. What to do. His eyes catch a glimmer of the bandage on his arm and it comes to him in an instant. Yeah. He needs to finish what he started. Death from blood loss seems kind of like a pussy-ish way to go out but it'll work. Plus, a shotgun blast would just be too messy. No need to put a hole in his gut, or head. Plus, no need to soil the Impala like that, not like that. He roots through another bag. Yeah, that's it. He's got what he needs. Knife? Check. Booze? Check. Pills? Check.

He feels a little more settled now that he has gathered up all the tools he needs so he leans into the driver's side to start up another round of music. He takes a moment to sit in the seat and grip the familiar material of the steering wheel. He opens up the window and exits his beloved car to lean on the side of her. Of his home. The home he shared with his brother. He fondly caresses her body and silently thanks her for providing some semblance of joy to him in his totally messed up life. For being a place of refuge and for always being there for him when he needed to feel safe. He pats the door frame one more time and makes his way to the hood. Bobby will find her. Bobby will take care of her and treat her right. He climbs up and splays across her hood, his back against the windshield, his equipment placed gently on her ebony body.

They used to hang out like this once in a while. Sam and him. After a job or while waiting for the next. It didn't happen often of course, there never seemed to be much in the way of downtime in a world full of monsters and demons. Dean never told his brother, but those moments were among his most treasured. Dean and his brother, having a brewski or two while their eyes gazed upward to the heavens. He wonders why he couldn't have told him. Just once. Told him how much these rare moments of reprieve meant. But Sam knew his brother well enough to know it without words having to be said. At least Dean hopes that was the case.

With a deep, mournful sigh, Dean opens up the bottle of painkillers and then the whiskey. He picks up his bottle of booze and lifts it to the sky. "Goodbye God, bottoms up dude, and thanks for nothing you son of a bitch!" He takes a swig of the liquid and gazes towards his other container. He isn't exactly sure how many pills there are but he doesn't care. He brings the smaller bottle to his lips and dumps it; takes them all in; empties the contents into his mouth without hesitation.

He chugs and chugs, feeling the pills slide easily down his throat. He takes in more and more of the amber liquid and relishes the burn of it as it starts to work itself into his system. When he finally pulls it away from his lips he is slightly surprised when three quarters of the damn bottle is gone. Okay then. Showtime.

He looks to the stars. And waits. His focus remains on the night sky until he starts to feel the booze and the pills begin to mess with his head. He feels good, like he is floating above his body. He feels content in the decision he has come to. His vision slowly starts to swim, his focus drifting from double, to triple, to single again. His eyes close but instantly shoot back open as he starts to panic. Not because he has suddenly realized what he has done. No, he panics because he can feel a numbness start to spread, to fan out through his frame. His body, it is slowly starting to succumb to the feeling of nothingness and he can't help it, all he wants to do is melt into the sensation; to let his body go.

But maybe it isn't enough. Maybe he didn't do enough. Maybe the next time he opens his eyes all he will have to show for his efforts is one hell of a hangover; that he would wake up to the realization that he has failed his brother once again. And Dean knows the last thing he wants to do is wake up.

He jolts into a sitting position and reels from the wave of dizziness that flows through him. He takes in some much needed air, worried that he'll end up passed out before he can get to the main attraction; before he can finish the deed. He starts to feel desperate, grabs the knife from the hood of the car after three attempts, and growls at how long it takes for him to finally manage to grip his injured arm. He can feel it. He is running out of time. His mind is stuck in a fog; his body refuses to listen to what he wants it to do; his movements are sluggish and he is becoming more and more unable to concentrate on the task at hand; he is on the verge of blacking out. No, not yet damn it. He quickly rips off the protective covering and exposes his skin.

With renewed determination, he grips the knife hard and steadies the blade against his flesh. He takes two deep, calming breaths. And then he cuts. Deep. He stares at the blood as it seeps out of the wound, as it drips effortlessly from the makeshift incision onto the black hood of the car. Weird. It doesn't even hurt. He stares; is mesmerized for a moment more on the sight of his life giving fluid as it spurts uncontrollably out of his body, until his focus starts to drift; until he sees double. One down and one to go. He can't stop now. He has to be sure that there is no doubt. He has to be sure that he won't survive. Because after all, there is no point in surviving when what made you want to live has been taken away; left to rot and burn in the fires of the pit.

He moves the knife to his injured hand and although there is a slight sting of what he imagines is pain, he is undeterred. He makes short work of his other arm and lets the knife fall from his less than functional limb. Sammy. He did it. Hang on Sam. Soon the Winchester boys will be reunited and will fight the forces of evil together.

"M'comin' S'mmmy... jus' like said...would..."

Dean lets his eyes drift close, no longer able to keep them open, and his body sags listlessly against the windshield. He can feel the effects of the alcohol and painkillers and blood loss as the combination of all three takes its toll on him. But there is no panic or worry this time. Because he knows it won't be long. Because he knows he is going to die. Because he knows he is going to get to Sam.

And that thought is what brings a smile to Dean's face.

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**TBC... I hope you liked! Thanks for stopping by and don't forget to review if you have a moment! :)**


	17. Chapter 17

**Hi all and to my fellow Canadians... HAPPY CANADA DAY! :) I hope you enjoy this latest chapter, it was a bit of a struggle this time trying to translate the thoughts in my head onto the page but hopefully it turned out alright. Thanks for reading and I would be grateful for any reviews you feel compelled to throw my way. Thanks again!**

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He is calm. He is relaxed. Adrift on a wave of nothingness. And his smile remains. At least he thinks it does because he honestly doesn't even think the muscles in his face work anymore. But, it doesn't matter. He feels good. Really damn good. And it's about time. Doesn't care. Doesn't feel. Just is. Without any expectations. Without the whole world's destiny riding on his shoulders. Soon he will have exactly what he wants. Death. And the chance to see his brother again.

So he waits. But starts to wonder. What the hell is taking so long? He figures it's been…um…well, maybe he doesn't know how long, but he is suddenly in awe of what the human body can actually subject itself to and still cling to life. He can still hear the music as it emanates from his car's open window, although it's muffled and impossible to distinguish what song it is. He can still hear the thrum of his heart as it beats in his chest; he can still hear the intake of his breath, although he thinks maybe those last two are fading fast.

And then, out of nowhere, he is bombarded by images as they flash underneath his closed lids. One after another the pictures in his mind appear like reel after reel of an old movie. Then he gets it. This is his life, in Technicolor, playing in his own head. His life. It flashes in front of him.

His mom, kissing him goodnight; the first time he saw Sammy; watching his mom cut off the crust from his sandwich; the fire; his dad, devastated and thrust into the hunting life; motel after motel room, looking after his younger brother while his dad looked for that damn demon; Sam all grown up and the day he walked out; his dad missing; going to get Sam at Stanford; Jess dying; dad dying; Dean dying; Sam…dying. He gasps for air as the images fade and wants to scream 'I'm ready!' but all that comes out is a pathetic gurgle.

As he returns to a state of calm, knowing that his visions were a sign that he is yet another step closer to the end, he hears something else. He isn't sure why but the sound puts him on edge; he knows he doesn't like it, not one damn bit.

Among the distorted music and the sounds that travel through the night air, throughout his body, there is another intertwined within. One that seems out of place; that doesn't belong. No. Please. Dean tries to convince himself that his deluded and muddled up brain is messing with him. That it is just his imagination. After all, he has left so much blood puddled up around him that he could pretty much imagine anything and believe it to be true. But as much as he tries to convince himself, he knows that sound; he knows it too well, has heard it so often that even when it is muffled and faint he knows it is real.

Dean groans and tries to move away from it but he can't. He is too far gone to make any part of his body listen. Damn it. He hates that stupid sound.

Flutter. Flutter.

Wings. Angel fricken wings. Which means Cas. Which means he is going to meddle in his business. Which means once again Dean will get screwed out of what he wants.

"Dean, why have you done this?"

Huh. Damn it. Of course. He should have known. There is no denying it now, of course it just had to be real. Of course it isn't his imagination. There goes wishful thinking right out the damn window. The sound of the voice grates on him and pisses him off; and what he had hoped hadn't arrived, hadn't come for him, has.

Dean pries his hardly functional eyes open to try and give the angel the glare of a lifetime. Of course, all he can manage is to open them a fraction and search lazily across his now tunnel vision view of the world for the winged party pooper. He can't see, not really, his vision hampered by blurriness and fatigue. He doesn't have to scan the area long however as Castiel seemingly comes out of nowhere to loom toward him; until he stands directly in front of the hood that Dean somehow still clings to life on. And Dean can tell by the look on the angel's face, he ain't feeling the love right now. And Dean, well, he just doesn't give one little shit.

Cas does not say another word, just stares at the hunter, at his friend, in what Dean figures is exasperation and perhaps a little twinge of disgust, complete with that oh so annoying tilt of his head. Well, Cas can go straight to hell. Huh. Hell. That is where Dean should be headed to, right now to find Sam, but this bastard is just about to ruin it for him.

"L…leave…m'lone…" Perfect, that was a little less convincing than Dean had hoped for. He growls at the marbles that seem to have taken root inside his mouth. He wishes he could give this Angel of the Lord a bit more of a lashing. "G'way…" Frick. If only that damn tongue of his would work.

Dean watches with unfocused eyes as that damn hand of Castiel's reaches out to touch him. And this time he can't do a damn thing to stop it; he is immobile and so screwed up that he can't even shuffle his ass away from the help that Cas is offering; that he didn't ask for; that Dean absolutely does not want; that he does not deserve.

Dean closes his eyes and thinks of Sam. Of how he has failed to do what he promised. He couldn't save him. In the end, Dean is the biggest letdown of them all. He couldn't save Sam, his own flesh and blood. Sure, he had no problem saving throngs of people, strangers, but the one person who means the most to him is the one who will suffer forever, because of him.

His mind starts to race because he can't… he can't live like this. He silently begs Cas to let him die. Because he can't live with the knowledge of where Sam is. He can't live with himself. He doesn't want to breathe. He doesn't want to think. He doesn't want to be. But Castiel won't listen, he just doesn't get it.

But wait. Cas was almost too late this time. Dean was breaching that veil once again, can still feel the last struggle of life ooze out of him. And with the big war being waged in the Heavens, the angel has his plate full with more important things to look after. It'll just be a matter of time before Dean can try again. Only this time, he figures he'll go the way of the shotgun. Quick, simple, and done.

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The hunter can feel it, the moment he has been touched by the otherworldly hand of Castiel. He sucks in a huge gasp of air into his lungs and can practically feel the cuts on his wrists close up. Like somehow his blood has rushed back in through the open wounds and then they sealed themselves up to make sure his life giving juices won't escape again.

His numbness, gone. His blurriness, gone. His escape, gone. His chance to help Sam, gone. He lays on the hood for a moment with his eyes screwed shut. All he can feel now is pain; and heartache; and despair; and unrelenting anger. At himself. At Cas. At Bobby. At Heaven and Hell.

Who the hell asked Cas or Bobby for their damn help? Dean knows he sure as hell didn't. Why is it that they always have to stand in the way of what will fix him? He breathes heavier and heavier, the anger begins to bubble in his veins and he hates the fact that physically he feels fine. He is overcome by the need, by the want to lash out at whatever happens to be within striking distance. And in this particular moment the focus of his rage has taken form as a trench coat wearing, so called new and improved, angel winged dick.

Dean hops off the hood and stands in front of his so called saviour; at the being that just healed him without his permission, when he so did not want to be saved. He stands in front of the smug, self righteous bastard who is so blindly dedicated to a father who knowingly let this whole pile of shit; of carnage unfold, without lifting one damn finger to stop it, that he still doesn't doubt him. In this moment, as he stares into that emotionless mask of Castiel, he feels nothing but pure and unabashed hate. He hates Castiel. And he hates God.

"Dean, you need to come with me. Bobby is worried about you…and so am I. And, after what I just witnessed, our concern is justified."

"I am not going anywhere with you, you dick. You and Bobby can take your concern and shove it directly up your ass! Haven't I done enough, sacrificed enough, in this fricked up world to be allowed this one thing? Just one? Tell you what, why don't you just fly away and forget you ever found me huh? Let me do what I have to do. I mean, c'mon, shouldn't you be taking care of business upstairs what with all the upheaval?"

"Yes, Heaven is in chaos, it's true. But Dean, so are you. I am not leaving without you. You are coming with me, whether I have your permission or not."

Dean's hands clench and unclench in fast motion, fists form and unform so quickly he can hardly control it. He just stares in contempt and hatred at the angel.

"Let us help you."

That's it. "Puh-lease, don't give me that load of crap. And really, why do you give a shit about me? Some little insignificant ant that has had to scurry around for years just looking for a scrap of happiness? I'm nothing, just a little pawn in some sick game of good versus evil. But good won right? The big show has been stopped. Hooray! But the price Cas, it was too damn high. Now Sam is rotting away in Hell and you just took away my chance to HELP HIM! So no, I don't need your kind of help, you selfish BASTARD!"

"The image you saw of your brother was not real Dean. Sam did not come to you, he would never ask you to journey down to Hell with him. And you know that. You manufactured him to give yourself a reason, an excuse, to end your own life. I will not stand back and allow you to do such a thing. You do not deserve to die, and you won't."

"SHUT THE HELL UP! I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU THINK! I… I WANT TO DIE! DON'T YOU GET IT? HUH? I… I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS! I… I DON'T WANT TO! It's… it's… torture… it's unbearable… the pain in my heart, in my soul…. "

Dean steps back as Cas reaches out to him again. Oh no you don't, Dean isn't done yet.

"And your father? The one that screwed you over and didn't help you when you asked? Well, that stand up dad didn't have the balls to make one damn appearance anywhere during this entire messed up freakshow that Sam and I have had to deal with for a fricken year! And now, suddenly, somebody from Heaven gives a flying….

Just leave Cas and don't come back. I am done. I am through. With you. With God. With Heaven. Everything. Free will remember? The ability to choose for yourself? Well, this is what I choose because I am so far past caring anymore. I am tired of playing this game. Hell, I am just tired, period. So why don't you flutter your way back to Bobby's and the two of you can have a touchy, feely, heart to heart together? Leave me out of it. Because I ain't going anywhere."

Cas disappears without another word to leave Dean to stand there in shock. Well, that was easy. And, of course, whenever he thinks that, he finds out within seconds that things are never as easy as they seem. As he turns to head towards the trunk of his car once again he bumps right into the angel.

"Yes, you are."

And this time, Castiel raises his hand to Dean's forehead so quickly he doesn't even have time to bat an eye.

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**TBC.. thanks for stopping by... Feel free to send me your thoughts, they motivate me more than I can express! :) Until next time...**


	18. Chapter 18

**Welcome back! I hope that you enjoy this chapter and I would love to hear your thoughts on it! Thanks as always for your continued support of this story and for all those wonderful reviews that you continue to send my way! I appreciate it! ENJOY! :)**

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Bobby sits in the chair. And his legs start to bounce. He takes off his cap and runs his hand through his hair before he places it back on his head. Bobby does that exact same thing twice more; all the while his legs continue their relentless movement.

He bolts out of that same damn chair. He paces around the perimeter of the room to give his fidgeting legs something to do. Because he, and they, can's stay still. His eyes won't even focus on one thing. They dart to the door; then the cot; then the floor; to that stupid chair; and back to the damn door.

Sure, the door is unlocked and he could leave the confines of the panic room; could roam around the house; could get a damn drink, which he must admit is so tempting that he almost considers it. Hell, he could do anything but stay where he is, but he doesn't have the gumption; the balls to actually leave. He doesn't want to miss it, because he is sure that this room will be the setting, the place that Cas will return to, hopefully with Dean in tow.

Bobby scolds himself over and over again for not calling out on the angel phone the moment that Dean locked him in his own damn room! He thought he could get through to the young man, on at least some level, before he headed off into the night to do God knows what. Well, he knows what, but he can't dwell on it now, it won't change things. Bobby paces faster and faster at the thought of Dean, with his not firing on all cylinders brain, ready and willing to head out and follow without question whatever actions that damn mirage of Sam in his stupid head told him to take.

But…if Cas was too late, if he didn't find him in time… or at all... Bobby stops to tell his own damn self to shut the hell up. All he knows for sure is that if, or rather when, Dean's hide is back in here with him he may just give the ignorant ass what he wants, because Bobby is just angry enough to tear him a new orifice or several after this idiotic stunt. That damn jackass is going to guide Bobby to his own early grave.

Round and round the panic room Bobby goes, like he's on some kind of out of control merry-go-round, only without the damn merry part. A small gust of air to the left of him causes Bobby to flinch and when he looks to the area, he lets out the breath he didn't realize he had held. He does his best not to smile at the sight. Cas is back. And so is Dean. By the looks of it, Cas took one mighty pissed off and agitated passenger along for the ride.

Dean looks as angry as Bobby has ever seen him and the fact that the idjit ain't busy apologizing to him up and down and sideways for leaving him to rot in here, takes care of the smile he had hidden underneath; the happiness he felt when he saw Dean again, alive and in one piece. The wave of pure hatred that seems to roll off of the young man causes Bobby's own anger to ignite. Dean stands there and dares to look at Bobby as if _he's_ the one who has done something unforgiveable? No way can he let that level of bullshit stand.

Before he can stop himself; before he can take a moment to revel in the fact that Dean is there, that he is still alive; before the realization that Bobby still has another chance to get through to him, he grabs Dean by the shoulders and shoves him roughly against the nearest wall. Bobby can feel himself shake with anger and pain. He is so close to Dean that their faces almost touch; he takes in a deep breath and loses his last bit of restraint. He starts to yell. And he wouldn't be surprised if Dean is on the receiving end of an impromptu shower from all the spit that flies out of him; as he finally expels all of his own pent up frustration of sorrow from deep within.

"What the hell is wrong with you, YOU DAMN STUBBORN JACKASS! Where the hell did you think you were gonna run to? There is no where you can go to get away from this! You need to step back, take the time you need to grieve and then move on! Did you really think I would just sit back and let you wander off to… to end it? Did you? Do I mean that little to you that you didn't give one thought to what you are doing to ME! DO YOU THINK THAT LITTLE OF YOURSELF? I can't believe that you of all people would have a damn death wish! You have fought time and time again to live, to continue on to save people. I… I could throttle you!"

By the time his rant is finished Bobby feels like he is in an oven; he boils over with emotions of every kind. He fights hard to gain control of his breath after this atypical journey towards damn hysterics. Only this stubborn sack of self-hating shit can get him this worked up. All it takes is the thought of losing this man, this boy, for Bobby Singer to lose his usual calm and rational tone and demeanour.

When he gains enough composure to focus on the features of the man in front of him, he cringes at the look he finds there. Bobby can't even be sure that Dean took in what he just spewed out at him, even though the decibels he used could rival that of a rock concert. He sees nothing in the green eyes he peers into. No remorse; no nothing. Dean seems to be devoid of any and all emotions; like he just doesn't care and can't be bothered to give his friend, his mentor, the benefit of a response; of the answers that the older man deserves.

That in itself is bad enough, but when Dean doesn't blink, doesn't try to get out of Bobby's grasp, doesn't do anything at all but remain motionless against the wall, that is beyond regular kind of bad. It's like the vacancy sign has just turned on at the Dean motel.

With his worry quotient already upped a level or two, it's no wonder that the smile that slowly curls out from Dean's mouth actually makes the hair on the back of Bobby's neck stand straight up. He has no idea what to make of it. After all that the older man has seen and done over the years, that thought makes him very, very nervous and genuinely frightened for this young man.

"Well Bobby, I'm standing right here, and it looks like I ain't going anywhere. So take your best shot. Throttle away."

The hunter releases him with a slight shove and stands back to stare at him. He... he really has lost him and he doesn't have any idea what to do next. It is painful to think how just 48 hours ago Dean and his brother were here, ready to take on the fight together, just as they have always done. Sure, they may have had the weight of the very future of humankind on their shoulders but still, they were both alive. And now, it seems they have both been lost; Sam has lost his life; and Dean, his reason to live.

"Son, I.… do you really think that your brother would want you to go down this road? Don't you think he would want you to live? To have a chance at happiness?"

Bobby may as well have been talking to the damn wall that Dean currently stands against. Even at the mention of his brother's name, or maybe because of it, the older man is greeted by the same stupid grin. An uncontrollable shiver rolls up and down Bobby's spine.

"You know you can't watch me every minute of every day Bobby. Hell, I don't even think Cassie over there can keep tabs on me every second."

Dean leans in as if he is going to let Bobby in on a deep, dark secret; he practically whispers into the hunter's ear. "He was almost too late to stop it this time you know. There is this huge battle raging away upstairs so my life? The life of an insignificant, stupid ape ain't really gonna matter in the scheme of things; doesn't mean squat to all those angel types."

As Dean draws away from him and takes back his position against the wall, Bobby finds he can't speak; that his throat has gone dry and closed up. He feels the sting of tears in his eyes and can't seem to turn away from the sight of Dean, looking smug and self-assured that it will only be a matter of time.

"You can't really keep me locked up in here until I'm as old as you, I think they call that cruel and unusual punishment. So, why don't you two just be my pals and let me out of here already. I got a lot of things to do. Umm.. there's the drinking…and the women…and well, whatever other happiness-rendering activities yours truly can find. Honestly, you two are starting to really rain on the Dean parade; constantly forcing me to think and feel, over and over again, about the one thing I never, ever want to think about again. So do me a favour Bobby, for old times' sake, and let me go."

"He's right Bobby. We will not be able to keep him here forever."

Bobby starts slightly at the voice that seemed to sneak up on him. He turns to face the angel that now stands to his side, and slams him with what he hopes is his best 'what the hell did you just say jackass?' expression. Cas of all people, or whatever, must be able to detect the stench of bullshit oozing out of Dean the same as he can. But the bastard ain't talking so….

"Well okay then, just what do you suggest? That we let him strut out of here and sit back to wait for the blood to start flowing?"

Huh… Was that? Did Bobby actually just witness Castiel nail him with a damn eye roll? And then sigh at him like _he_ is the one being the idjit around here?

"No, of course not. There is another way."

Dean's expression changes in an instant at those words. It's obvious to Bobby that he does not like the way that this conversation is headed, and he may even detect a twinge of fear flow outward from within Dean's gaze.

Not another word is spoken before both hunters are taken by surprise as Cas reaches out in a flash of trench coat beige to grab Dean by the arm. Dean struggles and fights and throws a punch or two but it's to no avail; Cas just continues on and drags him kicking and cussing across the room until they arrive where the cot is positioned. Dean tries all he can think of to break the hold on him but Bobby knows even a pissed off, scared out of his wits Winchester is no match for a warrior of heaven, especially when it seems as though Cas has now ventured into pissed off angel mode.

Only seconds later, Dean is securely fastened to the cot via the ever present set of handcuffs. And Cas casually walks away to leave him fight and cuss and struggle for all he's worth.

"Uh, what the hell Cas?"

"He would only try to flee again and this gives us the opportunity to talk, without interruption. I know how we can fix this, but it will not come without a cost."

Cas walks away, heads towards the door, and leaves Bobby to stand there with a lump the size of a damn grapefruit in his throat. Of course, there always has to be a catch.

Any hesitation Bobby had diminishes acutely when he sees that not only has Dean not stopped trying to break free of the cuffs, but a thin layer of red has started to drip from the sequestered man's wrist as he tries desperately to slide his hand out of the restraint. So, unless the cost of this 'cure' is something like a virgin sacrifice, Bobby is all ears.

After one last look at the seething youth that currently sends him dagger after dagger from hate filled eyes, Bobby turns his back on him to head towards the door and the hopes of a way to end this.

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**TBC... I'm thinking ony one more chapter to go! Hope to have it up within the next week! Thanks for stopping by and hope to see you return for the final installment! :)**


	19. Chapter 19

**Well, I guess I told a little bit of a fib... there will definitely be another chapter still to come. To all of you who have stuck with me throughout this journey, thank you for hanging in there and thank you for sending such fantastic and wonderful comments my way. I may have mentioned this before but I APPRECIATE IT VERY MUCH! I would LOVE to hear what you think of this chapter, it took a while to get my thoughts together for it. Thanks again and ENJOY! :)**

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No! Nononono! Dean can't believe that he is actually seeing Bobby leave him there, cuffed to this stupid, ugly, outrageously uncomfortable cot. He watches him turn his back and head through the door; toward the feathered freak who stands on the other side; the one who is just itching to spin the older man some sort of tale about some potion or other shit that can magically remove the pain that courses through him. He can't believe that Bobby is actually going to consider whatever twisted, screwed up line that dick with wings is going to try and pull over on him. Dean knows it's bad; very, very bad. Cuz if it wasn't fricked the hell up why would his two buddies have to leave the damn room to have a heart to heart about it?

Fear. Rage. Rapid approach to full on panic. Those are the things Dean feels as he watches the door; watches and wills Bobby to come back in and say something about being on candid camera or some other lame shit. He can hear them talking but can't make anything out. So much for Bobby coming to his senses. Shit. Maybe he should have played a little nicer. But he has to keep the faith that Bobby won't sell him out. Huh, faith, that's a good one.

But come on, Dean has chewed Bobby out before; has gotten him so riled up that he has wanted to throw him a punch. So Bobby won't listen to that stupid jerk off. Bobby will tell the angel to shove it up his ass and give in to Dean instead; will let him do what he has to. Whatever bullshit Cas tries to weave Bobby won't listen to it; will call him a winged idjit, come storming back in and get him the hell out of this freak show. Because Dean knows Bobby is on his side; just like always. He knows that Dean is his own person; can make up his own mind; that Dean knows what is best for him.

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Bobby listens carefully as Castiel explains what he believes to be the only option left, outside of tying the damn stubborn ass idjit in the other room to that damn cot for the rest of his life. He listens to how Cas can put an end to Dean's self-destructive path.

He listens. He tries to absorb the information until the angel stops and looks to him; in what Bobby assumes is a quest for the older hunter's approval. And boy, does that suck. Bobby doesn't want to hold that kind of responsibility on his shoulders; one that could alter a man's path in life. And not just any man's path; Dean's. And Bobby knows that whatever his decision, he will forever question whether he chose the right one. Because Cas was right, this plan comes with a price. And it stinks to high heaven.

"Are... are you absolutely sure that this will work? That poking around in his head won't make him a damn vegetable? Cas, are you sure that this won't cause any permanent damage to him?"

"I am sure. He will not be harmed; he will have no recollection of what was done to him. He will not remember."

"It's… I just, I'm not sure Cas. Messing with his mind like that, it just seems… wrong."

"I believe this is the only alternative we have. It is uncertain what Dean will do if he was to leave here, and I am not satisfied that he would not just try to end his life again. I look to you as his friend and as the father figure in his life. I will not proceed if you do not think it is justified, but I also know that you share the same fear as I do."

True. After all, Dean had tricked him, deceived him into thinking he was ready for help and then locked him up without a second thought; so he could end it. So yes, it has to be done so that Dean can be saved, from himself. But that don't mean that he's gotta like it. And he doesn't. At all.

"Okay Cas. Okay. How do we do this? What do you need me to do?"

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As soon as Dean sees the first figure enter back into the room he assumes his pissed off, 'not gonna give you the satisfaction of letting you know I am freaked the hell out' stare. As always Cas is unreadable, complete with his usual, blank, emotionless stare. But Bobby is another story. Hell, Bobby looks... guilty. And if that isn't enough to send up every red flag known to man in Dean's head then nothing ever will. Whatever it is, whatever Cas is going to do, Bobby is unsure about it. And although that thought terrifies him to his core, he knows that if Bobby ain't sure then maybe he still has some wiggle room left.

"Glad you could make it back, I was starting to get lonely over here TIED TO THE FRIGGEN BED!"

Worst case scenarios tumble around in Dean's head and he once again starts to pull and tug and get his stupid hand free. He knows that he can't get away, but that doesn't mean he is gonna make this gong show any easier for the two of them.

"So Cas, just what kind of magic rabbit you gonna pull out of your ass to _fix_ me? Huh?"

Neither of the men say one word and Dean can feel the sweat start to run, the panic start to rise and the inevitability of this intervention about to unfold. He is desperate now and he changes gears in an instant.

"Come on boys, can't we talk about this? Do you need me to swear a blood oath that I ain't gonna go out and off myself? I can do that you know, I mean after all, what's a little bloodshed among friends right? Just another drop in our never ending bucket."

Silence.

Dean swallows and watches Cas grab the chair from the other side of the room and bring it over with him to where Bobby stands. Dean looks to Bobby, and he feels a flash of anger by the fact that the older man can't even give him the damn courtesy of looking him in the eye. Dean's eyes drift over to Cas again and he sees determination and purpose set in his face. The shackled man closes his eyes and tells himself to wake up. Damn it to Hell, this is like some kind of badly written movie where he has the part of the unsuspecting victim; where the script is so unbelievable that it couldn't possibly happen in reality. This cannot be happening. He can't just let it happen.

"Okay, enough! Whew, you had me going there you two. Ha ha, joke's over, you can untie me now and we can all laugh about it over a cold one; about how you pulled off the punk'd episode of the century over on me."

The pair step closer until they are positioned right in front of him. Bobby shifts to stand to his side and Cas sets the chair down and sits in front of him, eye to eye.

Okay. Panic is in full bloom now. They aren't talking and Dean is running out of time. "Please, Bobby, whatever this wing-nut has in mind you know it's screwed up, I can see it on your face. So…please Bobby, don't let him do anything to me! Please! I mean whatever it is, it must be bad right, you can't even look me in the damn eye! "

Bobby turns his head and looks right at him. Dean gulps and swallows as he sees the conflict set within the older man's face. But he also sees resignation and defeat; Bobby has made up his mind. And Dean is royally screwed.

He yanks and heaves on the cuffs; he lashes out to punch someone, anyone in the face but Bobby grabs his free hand and presses it into the mattress with so much pressure Dean can't move it one inch. This is gone from bad to worse and Dean can't control his breath as it speeds up; can't stop the guttural noise that escapes him as he realizes this is going to happen. Whatever _this_ is.

"So, that's how it's gonna be huh? Just gonna cave to whatever this heavenly stooge has got in mind? When did you go all soft and spineless? Huh? Nice Bobby, really nice, thanks for all you support, I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Oh, and hey, if it wouldn't be too much trouble maybe you can just take a second to pull the damn KNIFE OUT OF MY BACK!"

Bobby remains silent. Dean huffs in frustration and turns his attention to the inquisitor in front of him.

"Okay Cassie, since Bobby here seems to have lost his voice, and his _balls_, why don't you tell me just what exactly you have in mind?"

Cas doesn't speak but Dean watches him lift his hands towards him. And then he gets it; like a lightning bolt has just struck him. He understands. And then his panic goes into complete and total overdrive. He strains his hands and thrashes his legs. He will not allow this to happen. He can't.

"NO! Don't you dare touch me! You are NOT going to make me forget Sam! You can't! You… can't! Not that, anything but that! Bobby? Not that!"

"Son…" Bobby can't even finish his damn sentence before Dean can tell he is choking up and hell, that confirms it. They are getting set to fricken brainwash him.

"Don't you dare touch me you angel douchebag!"

Dean relaxes and lets out a sharp breath of air as Cas drops his hands to his sides.

"Forgetting Sam is not the purpose here Dean."

"Really… well sorry but somehow I am having a hard time believing you… not telling me what is going on and keeping me locked up? That doesn't make a guy feel like everything is on the up and up. So then, do tell, what exactly _is_ the purpose of you and your gropey hands? You just itching to feel me up?"

"Our purpose is to save you… from yourself."

"What you gonna do huh? Vulcan mind meld my ass? Or, I know, go all Cuckoo's Nest on me?"

Dean almost chuckles when he sees that look, the one he has seen a million times before flicker across the angel's face.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, you don't understand that reference. What else is new? How about this one. Take your damn 'purpose' bullshit and shove it up your trench coat wearing, feathery white ass!"

And then the look is gone. And it slams into hard. He is still in a shitload of trouble.

Those damn hands reach out for him again and he sputters and spews out words of betrayal and an endless stream of profanities; kinds that even he can't believe come out of his mouth. Dean twists his head to the side and finds Bobby eyes; as they finally meet his.

"What the hell is wrong with you Bobby? Are you gonna just let him screw me over? Mess with my head? Are you going to sit back and watch him _change_ me? Bobby!"

Okay, that's good, that struck a nerve. Dean keeps his eyes bored into Bobby's as the doubt the older man has flashes once again across his features. He is starting to cave under the pressure. Dean can still get to him, Bobby's uncertainty may be his only chance to get the hell out of here.

"Cas…maybe we should reconsider…"

Yeah, damn right Bobby. Dean is glad someone else besides him has finally come to their senses and can see how this whole twisted thing has spun out of control. He watches with hope and wishful thinking as Bobby looks over to Cas.

"Maybe we don't need to do this. Maybe there is some other way."

Dean hears a deep sigh escape the older hunter but before he can turn his head Bobby's face comes back into view. And he doesn't like the look he finds there now. Shit.

"Sorry son, but this is the only way. If you weren't so stubborn and pig headed and hell bent on blaming yourself for everything that goes wrong… It's… I'm sorry Dean, this _needs_ to be done. I don't like it either but there is no other way to be sure that you keep on breathing."

Wow, that's rich. Dean's level of pissy-ness lifts itself somewhere into the upper stratosphere and he can't help but spit his next words out with hatred at his supposed friend and mentor.

"Easy for you to say, you ain't about to be on the receiving end of some kind of weird angel mojo. So just save it. Thanks for yet another stab in my fricken back Bobby. There must be what, a hundred holes carved into me now? Nice to know I always have you to look after me. What's the saying? With friends like you who needs…"

Dean forgets the rest of his sentence as he feels the contact of Castiel's hand on his neck; he can feel the pulse in his own throat quicken from the touch. He can't explain it. He feels…different. A sense of calmness seems to suddenly flow into him; it emanates from the exact spot where the angel has taken hold of him. He has to fight the sudden urge to lean into the touch. Damn angel. Damn mojo.

"Dean… look at me."

He shakes his head slowly and weakly to send a message. Even though he can feel warmth and peace start to run into him through the hand on his skin he will not willingly surrender to this fricked up version of mind control.

Dean strengthens his resolve and reminds himself that this dick is screwing with him; trying to change the way he feels; how he thinks. He says it over and over again in his head. Screwing with him; wants to change him; don't give in; screwing with him; change him; don't give in.

He strains to pull away from the hand on his neck but it's clear Cas ain't going to stop without a fight of his own. Dean can feel the presence of another hand on him, this time on the side of his face. And he can't help but draw in a gasp of air at the sensation.

"Cas…no…stop this. Get out of my head… Bobby…please….."

"Dean…look at me."

Without knowing why, Dean closes his eyes at the sound of the angel's voice. He feels his body lose its power to struggle and his arms go limp, the fight suddenly gone from them. He can't do this. He can't give in to the warmth and power he feels come from those hands. He is stronger than that. He won't let the angel win the battle.

"N…no. Get.. out… Why don't… you go to Hell C..Cas?"

He can feel the battle go on within his own mind. The need to stop the invasion he feels flow through him is at war against the need to give in to the peace and awesomeness he feels float around in his brain.

"Dean. Look at me."

It's beyond overwhelming now. The voice. He needs to follow what the voice tells him. But he can't remember why. The voice is so soft, so gentle, so full of compassion and light that he is compelled to listen to what it says. He turns towards it and looks directly into the eyes of an angel.

* * *

Bobby watches in awe and amazement at the scene before him. He can feel the tension in the hand he holds down to the cot leave in an instant. He sees Dean's body relax as he slowly gives in, gives up his struggle against Castiel. Bobby lets his grip on Dean loosen and sees the young man turn to gaze into the eyes of the angel who sits in front of him. Dean looks calm.

Bobby walks around to the other side of the cot and removes the cuff from Dean's wrist. He doesn't get any response at all; whatever angel mojo is in the air; whatever it is that has infiltrated itself into Dean's head, it has taken all the piss and vinegar right out of the Winchester son.

Bobby can't help but cringe at that thought; at the version of Dean that sits there, completely still and compliant. He cringes because this isn't Dean. Not really. This is some sort of damn angel magic.

And then he feels a shiver roll through him. He shivers because Dean now seems to be totally under its spell.

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**TBC.. One chapter left? Two? The hell if I know :) At any rate, thank you so much for stopping by to have a read. Please, if you have the time and desire I absolutely would love to get some feedback. I am a little bit leery of this chapter so any thoughts would be fabulous. Thank you! :)**


	20. Final Chapter

**Well everyone, welcome to the FINAL chapter of this tale, there is a lot more dialogue this time around. I must say that this has been my favourite story to write thus far and I appreciate all of the wonderful, positive feedback I have received. I would really love to hear your thoughts, not only on this chapter, but on the story as a whole. I hope that you will enjoy this final installment and hope to see you again sometime! Thanks again for all of your support! :)**

* * *

It's just plain weird. And creepy. And Bobby feels slightly sickened as he watches from the sidelines. Cas is busy working his magic and Dean seems to have turned into a mass of spineless jelly. Cas has removed his hands from Dean's face but the young man just remains where he is; floating around somewhere in the dark gaze of the eyes he stares into.

"Dean, listen to me. Focus and concentrate on my voice. Do you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, listen carefully. You need, you _want_ me and Bobby to help you. But in order to do that you have to be honest with us and answer any questions I ask of you. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Bobby's place."

"What happened to lead you here? What happened in the field? What started all of this?"

Something flashes across those green eyes and Bobby can sense the flurry of emotions as they roll through Dean's head; as he finds the answer to that question but holds on to it; tries to keep it inside. Because the answer must hurt like hell.

Dean's jawline tightens, his hands clench themselves into fists and his body physically starts to shake as he fights to keep his inner thoughts where they belong; to stop himself from saying the words that will be like a spike through his heart. His eyes open wider and Bobby knows he is willing himself to look away; to turn from the angel's pull on him.

But Cas ain't having any of that. Bobby isn't sure if it's a figment of his imagination but he swears he can see the colour in his eyes double in their intensity, like they are trying to bore a hole right into Dean's soul. Dean still quivers and Bobby can see the sheen of sweat glisten on his skin. The older man ain't liking how this is playing out but just as he is about to make his feelings about it known, Cas ups the ante and Dean doesn't stand a chance.

"Dean. You cannot fight this. You _want_ to tell me. You _need_ to. You need to let go of some of your pain and this is the only way. You know I am right. The memories won't hurt you, I am keeping them from doing so. But you must answer. Now."

And then Dean stops his fight; Bobby watches as he goes right back to the obedient little lap dog he was moments ago. His eyes return to their glazed and lifeless form and he answers the question that is demanded from the angel; the angel that Bobby is slowly starting to despise.

Dean is defenseless, his mind opened up and displayed like he's on the table at the damn morgue; his emotions and pain exposed for the other two men to see. Bobby feels dirty as sin about it too. He swallows the lump that has formed in his throat and prepares to serve as witness; to how the powers of heaven's righteous beings can actually reach in to someone's very essence and change them. Nobody and nothing should have that kind of power; that kind of control over another being.

As Dean speaks, Bobby is struck by how much he sounds like a damn robot. He would laugh about it if anything about this carnival act was in the least bit amusing.

"Sam. He threw himself, and Lucifer, into the pit. Into the cage. He's gone. Forever"

"And you have been left behind."

"Yes."

"If you were free to leave Bobby's right now, what would you do?"

Is this really necessary? Does this interrogation actually serve some kind of damn purpose? Let's get on to the fixing part already shall we? Bobby's pretty sure making someone relive the worst possible moments of their lives ain't top on the chart at the local 'How to Heal' handbook. The longer Bobby stands by, the more he thinks he has made a bad choice; the more he thinks Dean is going to be the one to pay for it.

"Kill myself."

It shocks the hell out of Bobby, the way the words so easily roll off the young man's tongue. Angel puppet or no, there should have been at least one little iota of resistance to that; one shred of the instinct of self-preservation waiting somewhere in the wings. Dean's fast and sure, and spits out those two words like they were nothing.

And Bobby's endless trip on this damn yo-yo is in full swing; he just keeps on going. One minute he wants to call the thing off, and the next he wants to hurry it along; wants Cas to just go for the jugular already and make Dean get rid of the thoughts running rampant in his head. This sucks already but Bobby knows it's just begun.

"Why do you want to end your life?"

"I have to. Can't live like this. Too much pain, too much torment. My brother, the one I swore to protect with my life is forever caged in with pure evil. It's the only way, I can't…. I just can't…. not without him."

"No Dean, you are wrong. You will _not_ kill yourself. You have always claimed your devotion, your love for Sam, and because of that you would never end your life. That would be a betrayal like no other."

Okay, well now Bobby knows exactly what going for the jugular would look like, it is right there in front of him.

"Sam did not sacrifice himself only for the fate of the world. To put it simply Dean, he did it for _you_. He took control of the Devil himself and threw him back into the box. For you. So that you could be saved; so that you could live on; so that you could continue with a chance at a normal life. Is that not what you asked of him when your positions were reversed?"

"But I... I did it for Sam because..."

It doesn't matter because I _was_ saved so he didn't have to go on without me... And only because I started it in the first place; because I had to finish it; but I couldn't even do that. There is no way for Sam to come back so it is not the same."

"You still have the same self doubt as when we first met; that somehow you do not deserve to be saved. Listen to me Dean. You may not see it, but you have now saved your brother twice. You brought him back and paid with your soul. And even now, even though you can't see it, you have saved him again. Perhaps not in the physical sense but if not for you he would have been lost long ago. You saved him from the evil he had within him, and helped turn it into something good. And because of that he saved not only you, but all who dwell on this earth. He has made an enormous sacrifice, there is no question. But what you are never willing to acknowledge is that you Dean… _you_ have made a sacrifice as well."

Bobby swipes at the tears that have unashamedly flowed down his scruffy cheek. Cas is one sneaky bastard, he'll give him that. When all other methods fail, use the one that will get through. This is how he is gonna play it; the only weakness that Dean has is his brother. And to use Dean's commitment to him as the thing that saves him is shifty and a tad cruel, but down right effective.

* * *

Around and around they go. Questions and answers to anything and everything. Cas asks, Dean answers and Bobby is in awe of how Cas can then manoeuvre the words around until Dean is eating out of the palm of his hand, seeing things the way that Cas wants him to see them. Bobby has found out more about Dean in the past hour than in the entire span of time he has known him.

And at the end of it all, when there couldn't possibly be one more question to be asked, Cas ends it just how he started.

"Dean, tell me, when you leave the care of Bobby; when you set out into the world on your own again, what will you do?"

"Do what Sam wanted. Live my life and remember him; remember that he and I both stopped the apocalypse from descending onto earth; remember that I deserve to live. "

No hesitation and no doubt in that statement. Just that damn robot speak. Bobby sighs as it hits home. Bobby just sat back and watched the man he knew be altered and twisted into something other than himself. Dean was right, he has been changed and Bobby did not lift one finger to stop it. He has just witnessed perfection in the art of brainwashing. And he wishes to hell he hadn't.

"Your last memory will be of Bobby bringing you here; there has been no interference by me. The actions you take, the need you will feel when you awake to talk to Bobby about the loss of your brother; the need you have to honour Sam by doing what he asked of you will come from within yourself."

"Yes, I know. I need help. I need to live. And I will. For Sam."

"Close your eyes and rest, free from the burdens of what you have lost and suffered. Sleep."

And with that, Dean closes his eyes and collapses against the angel, and Bobby ain't sure how the hell he feels.

Because although the end result is the one he was hoping for, he thinks that maybe the cost has been too high after all.

Because in the world of Dean Winchester, the one thing that kept you going; made you strong enough to defy heaven and hell and angels and demons, was the one thing that Bobby just allowed to be taken away.

Because when nothing else worked, when no other motivation would cut it, Dean would rely on two little words to forge ahead and tell those sons of bitches to shove it where the sun doesn't, or does, shine.

Because in the end, Dean would never give in to them, no matter what; because of those words. Two words he lived by; that he cherished; that he defied heaven and hell to protect.

Sure, maybe Dean won't be jumping out in front of a bus anytime soon but a part of him has been removed, ripped out without his permission.

As Bobby stalks over towards the two figures, the ones who look like they have been caught in some kind of weird embrace, another uncharacteristically frequent tear rolls from his eye.

As he looks down at the peaceful face of Dean, of the man he considers a son, he knows. Bobby knows. Damn it to hell, he chose wrong; the price was too high. The cost was those two words; the ones that had been spit out of Dean's mouth with venom so often against all who told him he had to bow down; that he and Sam had to just play along and do what destiny commanded. Two little words.

Free Will.

* * *

**The End.**


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